


Office-romances are not romantic (except when they are)

by Directionless_Foray



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Miroslav is basically Miranda Priestly but without the bitchiness, basically Thomas pines, boys suck at 'feelings', but with the nice clothes and total domination of the fashion industry, minimal swearing, oh my god angst, pretty much everyone is gay, so much of it, too much perhaps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 22,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2357192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would never work out, he reasons to himself, because Miro is the powerful and intelligent editor-and-chief of GQ Magazine and Thomas struggles with basic Algebra.<br/>In which Thomas is Miroslav's assistant and is also slightly in-love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this pairing for a while so um.. here it is?  
> All feedback is greatly appreciated :)  
> Apologies in advance for all spelling mistakes, grammatical errors etc  
> Enjoy!

Thomas balances various items as he shuffles into the elevator, dropping even just a single one of them is not an option.

Miro's coffee, expresso, two shots, no cream? Check!

Bagel with cream cheese? Check!

 

Green apple? Check!

Today's newspaper? Check!

Checklist? Check!

Unwrinkled shirt? Che- oh shit.

Thomas groans and softly bangs his head on the wall of the elevator, a woman in a three-piece suit frowns at him. _Well 5 out of a possible 6 is still pretty good_ , he accepts as he tries to smooth out his shirt to no avail.

 

 

-

 

"You're in luck Muller, he's not here yet," Manu smirks raising his steaming mug to his lips.

Thomas sticks his tongue out at him, "it's not luck at all, I, Manu, being the organised and well-prepared assistant that I am, knew that Miro would be late today and planned accordingly so as to arrive at the optimal time, in fact, this insinuation that I am anything but punctual and precise is a ridi-"

"Hey is that Mr. Klose going into his office?" Manu cuts Thomas off.

"Fuck."

 

-

 

"I'm so sorry Miro, I swear I got here on time I was just."

"It's okay, I saw you talking with Neuer," he reassures with a warm smile, "what's on the agenda today Thomas?"

Thomas flips open his planner and takes a deep breath, "well, you've got a meeting with Lahm on the cover feature in ten minutes and then that photographer and models are flying in to work on next month's editorial, a car will take you to meet them on location and after that you've got to go over the sports feature with Podolski, then you've got lunch with the event organisers for the Armani party at that Italian place you like and after that just a few meetings here and there which I can fill you in on after lunch." Thomas snaps the planner shut with a flourish. 

Miro smiles and applauds him, "see Thomas, writing it all down in a planner helps doesn't it?" _Okay, fine, Thomas has had issues with organisers and refused to use them for a while but he's man enough to admit that they can be pretty damn useful._

"Smug doesn't suit you Miro," he waggles his fingers, Miro laughs and unfolds the newspaper. "Don't forget your breakfast Sir, you've got that meeting in 10 minutes and Fips looks talkative today."

"I won't, thank you Thomas," Miro smiles warmly. 

 

-

 

"I still can't believe he lets you call him Miro," Mats muses leaning on Thomas' desk.

"Well we're close, so you know," Thomas gestures vaguely trying to focus on rearranging Miro's timetable to fit in three meetings that all seem to be on at the same time. 

Mats nods, "yeah, I know, you're in-love with him but I thought he _wasn't_ aware of that."

"Go away," Thomas swats at him until he moves away, "I do not!" Mats rolls his eyes. "Plus I have Very Important Business to attend to so go and hit on Benni or something."

"If you insist," he sighs dramatically, "oh and don't forget to forward those forms onto Klose okay?"

"When have I ever forgotten to-" Mats raises an eyebrow, "okay, don't answer that, I'll do it, don't worry."

"Alright then, my Benni awaits," he salutes and saunters off grinning. 

If Mats wasn't as attractive as he was, Thomas would never tolerate the little shit.

 

-

 

Thomas can't pin-point the exact moment he realised he was slightly-very-much in-love with his boss.

It may have been when he wore the beautifully cut navy suit to the Christmas party and Thomas couldn't take his eyes off of him. Or maybe it was when he spent a full hour explaining to Thomas that daily-planners were not Satan in book-form and how writing down events were a better system than rainbow sticky-notes and would actually help him remember them. Or perhaps it was when he brought Thomas chocolate cupcakes for his birthday because he had to work over-time for the fifth night in a row.

If he's being completely honest with himself he probably fell for Miro the moment he stepped into his office on his very first day. Thomas had dropped a giant stack of forms and found himself face to face with Miro's icy blue eyes as he helped him collect all the sheets.

Whenever the penny dropped doesn't matter, what _does_ matter is that Thomas is deeply and madly infatuated with said boss. And despite it being a great source of amusement for his friends Thomas doesn't know what to do about the situation.

It would never work out, he reasons to himself, because Miro is the powerful and intelligent editor-and-chief of GQ Magazine and Thomas struggles with basic Algebra.

So he just files and answers phone-calls whilst trying not to freak the fuck out.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas tries to make tea.  
> Manu is a hot-water poacher.  
> Mario is a lovable ray of sunshine.  
> Marco is punctual.  
> Miro makes an offer.  
> (In that order)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *BOLD* are all written   
> Oh and I thought I'd let you know what everyone (so far) does.  
> Miro - Editor in Chief  
> Thomas - Assistant  
> Jogi - Creative Director  
> Fips - Editor at Large/ Columnist  
> Mats - Fashion  
> Benni - Travel/ Food  
> Basti - Sport/ Fitness  
> Poldi - Sport/ Fitness  
> Mario - Entertainment  
> Manu - Technology

“No, no, Hummels ordered them two months ago and specified that they were not to be sample size,” Miro massages his temple, “no, he ordered the Dolce & Gabbana suits himself, and went over the individual measurements three times,” he takes a deep breath, “I was right next to him whilst he was doing so.”

Thomas silently tip toes in a places a purple sticky note on Miro’s desk,

***Valentino on line 5, want me to get rid of current call?***

Thomas gestures to his phone.

Miro nods relief evident on his face. “Yes, please,” he mouths.

Thomas smiles and connects the call to take over, “hello, I’m Thomas Muller, Mr. Klose’s assistant, let’s see if we can clear this up and get the suits in time for the shoot.” Thomas walks back to his desk, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder whilst scribbling on his planner. Miroslav gets up and walks ahead of Thomas to open the door for him, Thomas smiles in gratitude and waves a hand, “line 5,” he mouths, reminding Miro as he tries to manage his balancing act.

Miro gives him a thumbs up and murmurs a soft, “got it, Thomas, be careful.” He pats Thomas' elbow and brings his phone backup to his ear.

Thomas makes his way to his desk and tries to concentrate on the irritating woman screeching on the phone and calm down his beating heart.

 

-

 

Thomas hums to himself as he selects a teabag and waits for the kettle to boil. He tries to ignore everyone else in the breakroom. Naturally this doesn't really work.

“I’m just saying, it’s tickets to the Bayern and Dortmund game, you’d have to really, _really_ not want to go on a date with me to decline this offer,” Mats teases.

Benni raises an eyebrow, “no Mats, I’m not interested, I have to pick up my mother from the airport anyway.”

Mats’ eyes widen comically, “I knew you liked me but you want me to meet your mother already?”

Benni rolls her eyes but his cheeks are faintly pink.

The kettle whistles and Thomas gravitates towards it. Sadly Manu beats him to it and pours it all in his mug. Thomas glares, “that was for Miro!”

Manu just points the, now empty, kettle towards the sink, “make some more then?” He shrugs his shoulders. Thomas grumbles and moves towards the sink.

“Look, if Benni is rejecting you _yet again I might add,_  can Basti and I have those tickets?” Lukas quips.

Mats sighs and hands the tickets over, “enjoy them you old-married-couple, I won’t.” Mats pouts, “see Benni, look what you’ve done now.”

Benni sighs, “no, _you_  did that by giving them the tickets when you could easily have gone with someone else or gone by yourself.”

“How could you say that?” Mats gasps, “I would never even consider going with anyone other than you.”  

“Typical,” Lukas whispers to Bastian, “the ‘Fashions’ never truly understand or appreciate the sport, look he just gave away prime tickets.”

“I don’t hear you complaining about getting free tickets, don’t make me take them back from you,” Mats calls out loudly.

“Please, I bet you got them off some poor girl in PR,” Bastian responds without hesitation.

“You’re never getting them back,” Lukas whispers.

“Darling,” Poldi narrows his eyes as Mats slings an arm around his shoulders, “I _earnt_   those tickets, through charm and wit,” he grins.

Benni quietly leaves the room.

Mario lifts his headphones, “Can you guys shut up? I need to finalise these arrangements for the column,” he pleads.

Manu groans, “rookie mistake Gotze,” he chuckles as Mats, Bastian and Lukas all plop down next to him and start talking extra loudly. Even Thomas has to stifle his laughter as he prepares Miro’s tea, Miro likes tea when he’s stressed, tea with lots of sugar.

Mario huffs loudly, collects his sheets and folders, and strides out of the room. Manu laughs and sips his tea. “Ah, ‘Entertainment’ Interns,” he sighs fondly.

Everyone laughs.

 

-

 

“Mr Reus, I have to admit, I don’t think we’re used to models being on-time much less early,” Miroslav notes.

Thomas winks from over his shoulder, “basically, you’re the first.”

He chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, “I get that a lot,” he holds out a hand, “call me Marco!”

Miro grins and grasps his hand, Thomas claps him on the shoulder, “look at us, the three, punctual, musketeers!”

Marco laughs, Miro raises an eyebrow but cannot hide his fond smile, “Thomas,” he says warningly.

“I know, I know, remain professional,” Thomas sticks out his tongue and flounces off.

“He’s uh,” Marco laughs nervously, “he’s a bit of a character eh?”

Miro shakes his head and smiles affectionately, “he is isn't he?”

 

-

 

Everyone looks up as Mario races into the room.

“Uhm, Erik is sick today he I’m filling in for him!” Mario pants out of breath.

“You alright Mario?” Miro asks concerned.

“Yeah, I just, Poldi _just_  told me so I ran here,” Mario takes a deep breath.

Everyone bursts into laughter, “ah Poldi,” Mats muses fondly.

“That’s quite inconsiderate of him,” Miro’s furrows his brow, “I told him to let you know yesterday.”

Thomas chokes on his laughter and makes eye-contact with Manu who looks similarly amused.

“That’s okay boss, I’m fine,” Miro smiles brightly.

“Alright,” Miro concedes, “when you catch your breath go help with the set up.”

“Will do,” Mario beams and heads off immediately.

 

-

 

Marco nudges Thomas, “uh, who’s uh,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “who’s that guy with the headphones?”

Thomas bites his lip, “that’s Mario, he’s an intern for ‘Entertainment.’” Marco nods, his gaze still locked on the cheerful intern. Thomas scribbles quickly on a random sheet of paper and folds it twice, “uh, can you give this to him for me?”

Marco agrees eagerly and grabs the piece of paper, “sure thing.”

“Huh, I thought models were more prima-donna-ish,” Thomas ponders.

“Well, looks like our boy Mario has caught the eye of the supermodel,” Manu grins.

“They grow up so fast,” Thomas wipes away an imaginary tear. Thomas laughs and then whispers what he wrote on the sheet to Manu.

Mario turns around when Marco taps him on his shoulder and blushes. “Who’s this from?” he asks looking up at Marco.

“Uh, weird guy over there,” Marco points in Thomas and Manu’s direction, “the one pretending to cry and uh waving a handkerchief at you?”

Mario sighs and unfolds the paper.

***Hot Calvin Klein model is into you <3 Get into that man’s expensive designer jeans young padawan!***

Mario blushes furiously and flips off Thomas, Manu clutches his stomach as he laughs. Marco looks confused as Mario scrunches up the piece of paper and throws it into the bin.

“Meddling again?” Miro asks bemusedly. Thomas spins around and blushes.

“No?” Thomas bites his lip.

“Of course,” Miro winks and a little part of Thomas’ dies inside. “Can I come speak with you for a minute though?”

“Sure thing,” Thomas dazedly hears himself say.

 

-

 

“Wait is this about the musketeer comment? Because that was just a joke, I was  just keeping the mood light,” Thomas defends.

“No Thomas, it’s not about your insightful comments," Miro reassures whilst gently tugging Thomas towards an empty conference room. "However improper they were," Miro's eyes sparkle and Thomas forgets to breathe.

"Phew that's a relief..." Thomas trails off as he stares at Miro's ass whilst he goes to grab some water.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I need to ask a favour," he begins settling down in the seat opposite Thomas. "You know how I need to go to Milan for a few days to attend that Armani party in uh one or two months?"

"Two months," Thomas supplies.

"Yes, two months then," Miro smiles brightly, "Jogi has decided that no one can function without him here so that leaves me going alone," he rolls his eyes. 

Thomas nods not understanding where this is going, "and, do you want me to try and reschedule it or organise someone else to go?" he offers.

"No, Thomas," Miro takes a sip from his tumbler, "I was hoping, if it wasn't too big of an inconvenience," he hastily adds, "if you could join me instead." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> Feel free to befriend me on tumblr (www.letsbeabunchofweirdos.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even have an explanation for this lmao

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um yeah, sorry it took me a while to update, I also decided that whilst GQ does do a lot of different stuff I'd like to mostly stick to the fashion area, just cause it's so much more fun to write haha, but yeah, hope that's cool with everyone.
> 
> This chapter is mostly filler, (sorry again) but the next chapter should be up in a few days.
> 
> Aside from that, enjoy!

“Um Mr. Reus, can you, can you please tilt your face up, just uh, just a little?”

Thomas and Manu snicker as they watch Mario blush and stutter. Marco obliges and expertly tilts his chin up so the light catches on his cheekbones. “You know I’ve mentioned a couple times that you can just call me Marco?” he smirks.

“Uh, yes, yes but I think that’s, that’s a bit unprofessional,” Mario stammers.

“...Fair enough,” Marco begrudges, suddenly his eyes take on a mischievous glint,  “hey Mario? What's your  _professional_ opinion, are uh, are my jeans too low?”

Mario scowls and directs his gaze towards the waistband of Marco’s dress pants, his face reddens, “they’re fine, _Mr Reus,_ ” he grits his teeth.

“Thank you, _Mario,_ ”  he says brightly.

 

-

 

Benni pops a pair of patent leather shoes on the table, “isn’t Mats meant to be coordinating the shoot?” he asks carefully.

“Yeah but isn’t this much more entertaining?” Thomas sighs.

“I have to agree with Muller, this is _much_  more fun,” Manuel grins, “plus I uh, I think Mats needs some help with the suits, he’s freaking out a little.”

“The suits aren’t the exact sizes he wanted,” Thomas shrugs, “Miro’s super pissed off at the D&G team as well if that’s any indication of the shitstorm.”

Benni shakes his head and makes his way over to Mats. Thomas and Manu discreetly high-five. “Two birds one stone eh?” Thomas laughs.

 

-

 

“You alright Mats?” Benni asks cautiously. He's shaking and looks like he’s about to completely lose it.

“The, the suits, I ordered, ordered them two months, _two months ago,_ ” Mats’ voice is dangerously low, “I specifically, **_specifically,_**  gave them Marco’s measurements and, and now this.” Benni reaches out to pat Mats’ back.

“I’m sure you can sort this out,” he says gently, “if anyone can sort out a suit, it’s you.”

“You don’t get it Benni, I told them so many times and they, they just,” Mat’s whimpers helplessly, “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

Benni bites his lip and clasps Mats’ hand in his own, “come on,” he tugs Mats into the hallway, away from everyone’s prying eyes.

“What are you? Why di-” Benni doesn’t let him finish but engulfs him in a hug. Mats instantly relaxes into the embrace. “I’m just so sick of being brushed aside, Benni,” he mumbles.

“I know Mats, I know,” Benni murmurs reassuringly, “I’m always here for you,” he pats him on the back. "How can I help? Is there anything I can do?" he asks gently.

Mats just shakes his head. 

"I'm so sorry Mats, I wish I could fix this," Benni whispers.

“Why are you still my friend?” Mats muses incredulously. “Seriously though Benni, what did I ever do to deserve someone as amazing as you?”

Benni shrugs bashfully, “I mean we’ve been friends for what? Ten years? It’s a bit late to back out now,” he smiles.

Mats hugs him again and presses his face into Benni’s neck, “still, you’re amazing. Never leave me, please.”

Benni smiles sadly, “I’ll always be your friend Mats, always.”

 

-

 

“So what did you tell him?” Manu asks Thomas.

“Well I asked him to give me some time to think... “ Thomas shrugs.

Manu hums to himself as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate.

“First of all, why are you always drinking some sort of beverage and second of all what did that ‘hmm’ mean?” Thomas frowns.

“Hot chocolate,” Manu shrugs by way of explanation, “and I don’t see why you need to think about it, one: he needs you there, two: you like spending time with him, three: you’re in love with him, four: it’s _Italy_ , five: he won’t be able to find anyone else to go and six: you’re in love with him, and would never say no to him,” Manu counts his reasons on his fingers.

“You said I’m in love with him twice,” Thomas glares, “plus, you know, I’m not, in love with him that is,” he adds defiantly.

Manu chuckles, “seriously Thomas, why do you need to think about it? Are you worried you’ll get too drunk on Prosecco and make a move on the boss?”

“No Manu,” Thomas sputters, “jesus he’s in the goddamn room,” Thomas whips his head around to check where Miro is. Thankfully he is on the other side of the room, discussing something with the photographer.

“Still, you clearly want him,” Manu reasons taking a sip.

Thomas huffs, “go away Manu.”

“You didn’t deny it!” he sing songs.

“Just drink you’re stupid hot-chocolate!”

“I will, and you _still_  didn’t deny it.”

 

-

 

“Care to enlighten me, Thomas, on why Klose has personally asked me to try and convince you to join him on the Milan trip?” Jogi leans against the door to the breakroom and raises an eyebrow.

Thomas gasps in surprise an almost drops the towering pile of shoeboxes. “Jeez Jogi thanks for the warning,” Thomas glares sarcastically.

“Answer the damn question Thomas,” he rolls his eyes.

“I uh, I don’t want,” Thomas bites his lip and deliberates what he will say next, “um…”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with him Muller, and if that’s really why you’re considering not doing this then you’re an idiot, in fact you sort of are regardless.”

Thomas’ jaw drops.

“Don’t be an even bigger idiot Muller,” he reiterates. “I’m going to tell him you’ve said yes, and if you want to disagree you can go tell him and upset him yourself,” he strides off.

Thomas just stands there in shock, _well, looks like he’s going to Milan._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> Befriend me: www.letsbeabunchofweirdos.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys are really bad with feelings and communicating.   
> (Are we even surprised?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while!! To make it up to you I've planned out the whole fic and I promise I will not be abandoning this fic, don't worry :)  
> I'm pretty happy with this chapter despite it still being relatively filler-esque.   
> Enjoy!

“So you were peer pressured into going,” Manu grins, “why am I not surprised?”

“To be fair…” Thomas begins.

“Oh this will be good,” Manu scoffs stirring his pumpkin soup.

“Nevermind,” Thomas sighs. “Why can’t you make fun of Benni or Mario for once?” he whines.

“Because Benni is far too nice and Mario will probably get to sleep with a famous underwear model,” Bastian shrugs.

“I totally could have slept with an underwear model!”

“Yeah sure, Thomas, remember the incident with Ronaldo?” Basti arches a brow and Thomas scowls, he sticks his tongue out at him and looks around. Benni is perched on a seat and hasn't spoken for a while, “you okay?” he asks.

This startles Benni out of his reverie, “oh, yeah, what was that?”

“Are you okay?” Thomas repeats carefully.

“Yeah I’m fi- wait no, I want to ask a question.”

“Ask away,” Manu calls out, he places his mug of soup down.

“What does everyone, seriously, think about Mats and I,” he looks around and makes eye contact with everyone in the room. “Seriously,” he warns.

Everyone avoids making eye contact with him, “um, you guys are just good-great friends right, that's all just great-really great friends?” Thomas squeaks.

Everyone in the vicinity facepalms. One things for sure, Thomas is never going to win an Academy Award for any sort of acting.

“Yes, thank you Thomas, we are just friends! Exactly,” Benni nods, he looks around desperately and tries to confirm it with everyone else.

“Bullshit,” Manu coughs.

Benni glares, “what was that?” he growls.

Manu sighs and leans back against the counter, “it’s pretty hard to just be friends when you want to sleep with each other,” he shrugs.

“I-I I do not want to sleep with Mats, how could you, how could you even suggest that,” Benni sputters, his face bright pink, “I mean he’s attractive, anyone could see that, well, okay, he’s not just attractive he’s extremely attractive but, but _I’m_  not interested,” Benni looks up, everyone is staring at him with expressions ranging from bemusement to sympathy, “I don’t want to sleep with him,” he finishes meekly.

“That’s great Benni, I was talking about how Mats has wanted to sleep with you for as long as I’ve known you two,” Manu says brightly before blowing on his soup.

Benni opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. His cheeks are still very pink.

“It _was_  nice to know that you find him extremely attractive though,” Lukas offers.

“Shut up,” Benni groans. Thomas tentatively rubs his back.

“Mats just wants a quick fuck,” he whispers, “I want, I-, I don’t know what I want exactly but I know that a quick fuck is not that.”

Thomas bites his lip, “I think Mats just wants _you_  to be perfectly honest,” he suggests quietly.

Benni laughs, biting and sarcastic, his whole body shakes from the force of it, “yeah right.”

Thomas keeps rubbing his back comfortingly.

 

-

  
  


Manu is humming as he unpacks a shipment of iPads, he uses one hand to reverently stroke the screen of the iPad sitting on the top and clutches a glass of mineral water in the other hand. Thomas feels like he’s interrupting an intimate moment, he just stands in the doorway for a few moments.

“Spit it out Thomas,” Manu doesn’t look up.  
“Uh Miro needs to see you.”

“I sent him the piece on technology innovation two days ago, Thomas.”

“It’s not about that.”

“...does he need help with his laptop again?”

“...maybe.”

Manuel looks up at that, “can’t you just help him?” he asks furrowing his brows.

“He doesn’t want my help,” Thomas says quietly.

Manu raises a brow, “... I see.” He moves the box of iPads under his desk and moves towards the door.

“He doesn’t need my help,” Thomas murmurs dolefully.

Manu snorts, “hardly, he’s probably just embarrassed,” he pats him on the back. “Let’s go rescue your technologically-challenged prince from the perils of Apple MacBooks.”

 

-

 

“Hey Miro, I got Manu to help you out,” Thomas pops his head into his office.

Manu waves, Miro smiles gratefully, “thank you so much Manuel, I’m sorry if I’m taking you away from your work.”

“No problem, but Thomas is more than capable of helping you, as clumsy as he is,” Manu winks at Thomas and nudges him teasingly.

“I’m nowhere near as good with gadgets and gismos as you Manu,” Thomas rolls his eyes. Manu ruffles his hair.

“Well uh, Thomas has lots of important to work to do so, so uh, I figured you could help,” Miro coughs, Miro notes that he’s blushing.

Thomas catches on and bites his lip, “I’ll get to work on that then,” he mumbles turning to leave.

“Manu squeezes his hand, “don’t worry about it,” he mouths.

Thomas nods but he still looks a little upset.

 

-

 

“My flight is tomorrow morning but I was hoping that I could grab dinner with you tonight, i figure you’d know where all the best restaurants are,” Marco grins.

“Well if you’re flying out tomorrow then there’s not much point in us having dinner together, in meeting up whatsoever,” Mario says evenly, his eyes don’t leave the rack of samples he’s organising. _Thin, layering knits to the left and thicker, bulkier ones to the right._

Marco frowns, “I’d really like to get to know you though,” he places a hand on Mario’s, Mario stills.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he carefully extracts his hand from under Marco’s. Marco's face falls.

“Well, I’m in Paris next week, if you ever want to catch up or talk, this is my number,” he says quietly as he scrawls some numbers on Mario’s hand, “I really enjoyed working with you,” he smiles somewhat shyly.

“Enjoy Paris,” Mario avoids Marco's inquiring eyes as he walks away.

 

-

 

“So you and Thomas are good friends huh?” Miro aims for nonchalant and misses, _by a lot._

“Best friends,” Manu grins, eyes on Miro’s laptop, “I’ve know him for almost ten years, we’re closer than _just friends_.”

“Oh,” Miro’s face falls, “I see, thats,” he shrugs, “that’s nice.”

“Yeah, I guess I know him pretty well,” he chuckles as he rescues a couple of documents from Miro’s trash can.

“Is he,” Miro swallows, “is he seeing anyone, romantically that is?” He quickly backtracks, “not that it’s any of my business, just natural curiosity," he adds nervously. 

Manu wants to laugh,  _god, they're both so obvious,_ "not that I know of," he looks over at Miroslav, who only just manages to hide his relieved smile. "And trust me, I would know," he winks. Manu feels mischevious, "I think he's interested in someone in the office though," he says conspiratorially. 

"Oh really," Miro tries to disguise his disappointment. Looks like Thomas' crush isn't destined to win any Academy Awards either.

"Yeah, it would seem so." 

_These idiots._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts??  
> Oh and anyone trying to find me on tumblr, I've changed my url to www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com but I'll probably change it back to letsbeabunchofweirdos in the next few weeks (maybe...) I'll keep you in the loop anyway.  
> Feel free to befriend me, and as always, all feedback and comments are really REALLY appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically shit happens, some of it good but most of it heart-attack inducing (for Fips at least).   
> (I'd like to preface this with the fact that I know virtually NOTHING about how a magazine actually works outside of 'the Devil Wears Prada,' and my fanciful imagination.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates within two days :O How lucky you readers are, feel free to thank my poor self control lmao.  
> I know the storyline hasn't been anything too amazing so far but things will get interesting, trust me.  
> Things SORT OF begin to get interesting this chappie and we meet some important people ;)  
> Enjoy!

Benni is flying out to Palm Springs for a travel piece, something about ‘desert-outsider art,’ which doesn't mean anything to anyone in the office but seems to get Benni visibly excited which in turn makes Mats bemusedly fond. Benni leaves Mats specific instruction on how to take care of his turtles for the five days. Third on the list is _‘Don’t let Thomas offer to look after them. I would like to return home to **live** turtles’_

“Enjoy your Outside dessert art Benni!” Thomas says brightly.

Benni sighs but his spirits aren’t dampened, “desert-outsider art, Thomas,” he corrects patiently.

“Have fun but don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Mats grins wolfishly as he engulfs him in a warm hug.

“God help me if I’m foolish enough to do anything you'd do,” he laughs jokingly.

 

-

 

“I’ve got the DiCaprio interview, I’ll just send it to Jogi and Leo’s people for a last minute go over and we should be good to go,” Fips checks his watch and beams. “We’ve got two hours left, we might actually finalise this edition well and truly before deadline!” he’s buzzing like a child hopped up on lollies and soft-drink.

Thomas opens his mouth to praise Fips but Mario pops his head into the room, “guys, I have bad news...”

 

-

 

 _Ah,_ there’s nothing Miro loves more than some peace and quiet in the office, it’s always lovely when everything is going well, the office working like a well-oiled machine. Perhaps Miro should start considering what to pack for the Milan trip, he’s got some time to spare. Those pressed Valentino trousers were nice, they needed to go to the dry-cleaners though, he’d have to remind Thomas-

**_“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE PRINTERS AREN’T WORKING TWO HOURS BEFORE DEADLINE?”_ **

Miro winces, that peace didn’t last half as long as he would have liked, but a distressed Philipp was no good, no good at all. Luckily for the magazine Miro thrived when pushed.

 

-

 

“Okay, Mats you’ve got the Reus editorial and the secondary one as well, Lukas and Bastian you’re both on the sports and travel columns and sports feature, Jogi, I’m trusting you with the DiCaprio cover and the feature,” Miro’s stare is piercing, Jogi nods, “Mario,  handle the entertainment section, Philipp you’ll have to get the ads together, Manu please run the columns and that other interview and Thomas and I will do everything else,” Thomas is hastily scribbling everything he can remember down on a sheet of loose leaf paper.

“Go home, call cabs, carpool, I don’t care, just get home, get somewhere, anywhere where you can print off what you’ve been allocated and then get your asses back here as fast as you can.” Miro glances at his rolex, “you’ve got roughly an hour and a half to be back here, go, GO, GO!”

 

-

 

Thomas has been to Miro’s house a total of four times. Once to deliver his dry-cleaning, once to bring some samples when Miro was sick but insisted on working from home, another time to pick up Miro’s mobile when he accidentally left it at home and lastly to pick up the boys, Luan and Noah, early from school because they had chickenpox and Miro had meetings with shareholders all afternoon.

 

Basically Thomas treats every trip to Miro’s _(sprawling luxury brownstone in the heart of East Village)_ home as a rare treat. Certainly today’s trip will be quite different, Thomas watches Miro in the cab as he nervously taps his fingers against his phone, _this would probably be a really bad time to tell Miro he looks really hot when he’s anxious, his blue eyes are blazing and his hair is tousled, just so._ Thomas keeps those thoughts to himself and instead reaches out to clasp Miro’s shaking hands, “everything will be fine Miro,” out of the corner of his eyes Thomas sees them pull up by the address, “let’s get this show on the road shall we?”

Miro answers him by stepping out and holding the door for Thomas, “yes, lets,” he smiles.

 

Once they enter the house Miro moves towards the study and Thomas carefully toes off his dress shoes. Sylwia wanders into the hall clutching a mug of something warm and deliciously aromatic, “I thought tonight was deadline night, I didn’t expect to see Miro back so early,” she smirks, “or his cute assistant tagging along,” Thomas blushes and laughs nervously. Sylwia may be Miro’s ex-wife, but she’s still his _ex-wife._

“Stop hitting on Thomas, Sylwia, I’m going to need his help, the printer broke down at the office.”

Sylwia muffles her laughter behind a perfectly manicured hand, even in over-sized sweats, she’s incomparably stylish and glamorous. She presses the mug into Thomas’ hands, “cocoa,” she mouths. Thomas takes a sip and promptly chokes, Sylwia laughs, “and a little vodka,” she whispers.

“Hey Thomas! Are you going to play football with us today?” Luan asks.

“Why are you coughing, Thomas, are you sick?” Noah furrows his brow.

“I’m fine boys, thank you for the concern” Thomas clears his throat and crouches down, “I'm sorry but I can’t play football with you today becau-”

“Because you know you’re going to lose,” Luan rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, Noah nods enthusiastically.

Thomas huffs and feigns outrage, “well, first of all no, Mulli always wins but secondly and more importantly I have to help Miro today with very important stuff.”

Noah sighs, “why does Papa always get to have you?”

Thomas pats him on the shoulder, “it’s because I work-”

“It’s because I pay him exorbitant amounts of money,” Miro calls out.

“That too,” Thomas winks, he looks up at Sylwia, “plus I think it’s bedtime for you two,” he straightens up and pops the mug on the coffee table, “I’ll _beat_  you two at football some other time, don’t worry about that, Mulli never forgets,” he taps his temple and the boys laugh. “You two listen to your mother and go get ready for bed.”

“You heard the man, pjs and teeth brushing stat!” Sylwia ruffles Luan’s hair and leads them upstairs.

Thomas takes a deep breath and just as he moves towards the study he hears a loud, “Thomas how do I turn on the printer again?”

Thomas grins, _only Miro, only Miro._

 

-

 

"Noah and Luan are adorable," Thomas muses aloud as they both watch the printer run sheet after sheet off. 

"They're something else aren't they," Miro smiles sadly, "it's just sometimes I feel like I'm not  _there_ enough for them."

"Don't say that Miro, don't _ever_ say that, you're a fantastic father," Thomas puts down the checklist, "you go to all their concerts, football games and go to all the parent teacher interviews, trust me I would know, I rearrange your schedule every time an event pops up, plus you try and spend all your free time with them, you're giving them all you can and then some, don't ever consider yourself anything but an amazing father Miro, I won't allow it."

There is a pregnant pause and Thomas worries he's said too much. It's not like he can take it back though. Miro blinks, his expression softens, "thank you Thomas," he murmurs, "it means a lot coming from you," his words are heavy with emotion and Thomas blushes.

"It's just the truth," he shrugs.

"Even so," the corners of Miro's eyes crinkle, "thank you." He holds Thomas' gaze for a few moments and Thomas feels like he can't breathe. Every time Miro stares at him he feels like he can see every one of Thomas' fears, flaws and every innermost thought. That terrifies Thomas, and yet, he still can't look away. He can never look away, can never tell himself to stop, that this 'harmless-crush' has maybe gone too far.

With the gentle _woosh_ -ing of the printer in the background, Thomas silently falls apart.

 

-

 

"Here you go," Mats places the last few sheets on the desk and ticks it off the checklist, his charcoal coat still draped across his shoulders and navy scarf wrapped haphazardly around his neck.

 Thomas carefully slots it into the display folder, checks one last time and hands it over to Miro, who is checking his watch every few seconds. "Alright, that's that sorted and I have twenty minutes to get that to Conde Nast, but I should be fine, thank you boys, you've done splendidly given the circumstances," Miro takes the time to make eye-contact with everyone huddled in the room, "go home, go get some food, go get wasted if you really want, just be here tomorrow morning for work as per usual," Thomas hands him his camel coat and he salutes them all with the folder and strides out of the room. 

Everyone lets out a discernible sigh of relief. 

Thomas sags against his desk, Mats shrugs off his coat and just lets it fall to the ground, Poldi rests his head on Basti's shoulder. Mario looks dazed and Fips just looks like he's close to spontaneously combusting. Manu makes eye contact with Thomas, smiles tiredly and pours the rest of his coffee down the sink. 

"And then we do it all over again," Jogi muses aloud. 

_Deadline stress never seems to go away, no matter how many times they face it._

_And in spite of that, no one in that office could imagine working anywhere else._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? I appreciate ALL feedback! :D x  
> (oF COURSE MIRO CAN'T WORK A PRINTER GUYS CAN YOU IMAGINE "But Thomas why is it telling me to connect to wifi? I'm just printing off the word docs!")


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miro picks up the twins, Benni comes back from the desert with more than just photos and Mats breaks things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing pretty much everyday (because self control is a foreign concept to me) and I kind of love this chapter lmao.   
> I couldn't resist slipping in some Crozil (OTP FOR LIFE) and fear not, I have heard your please for Neumer (is that how it's spelled?) and Christoph WILL be in this fic but I won't tell you when as of yet ;) (I have it all planned out)   
> Enjoy!

“They’re bringing the car around for you Miro, school finishes for Luan and Noah in half an hour so you have plenty of time to get there,” Thomas smiled.

Miro send an e-mail and closed his laptop, “thank you Thomas.”  

“No problem, I’ll go and grab your coat and scarf and then you’re all good to go!,” Miro tried desperately not to stare at Thomas’ ass as he went to fetch Miro’s things. Miro presses his glass of water to his forehead, _now is not the time to recognise that he has a **thing** for his very attractive, very charming and very young assistant. Not to mention the fact that he's a divorcee with twin sons, god, every bachelor’s dream._

 

-

 

“Isn’t Thomas coming to pick us up as well?” Luan frowns.

“Yeah! He said he would play football with us last week,” Noah adds, “he promised he wouldn’t forget!”

“DId he now,” Miro raises an eyebrow, “well I guess we’ll have to have him over some time.”

The boys whoop, _it's funny,_ Miro thinks to himself, _how Thomas has managed to quietly integrate himself into so many parts of Miro’s life._

“Papa, we want to get ice-cream,” Luan tugs on Miro’s sleeve.

“Mama, said we could because we’re good boys,” Noah smiles encouragingly.

“Well if Mama said so, they we _have to_  obey don’t we?” Miro says, faux solemnly. “Eric, let’s stop at the ice-cream parlour before we go home,” he tells his chauffeur.

“Of course, Mr Klose.”

 

-

 

“Wait, Marco Reus, the same Marco Reus that Vogue Italia called the hottest new talent, asked you out and you said _‘no’?_ ” Thomas is beside himself in astonishment.

“Yeah, well, yeah,” Mario shrugs, “he was probably just messing with me, plus it’s _unprofessional,_ I was working on the shoot.”

“But he was clearly into you, he was flirting for ages and he’s tipped to replace Gandy for D&G!”

“Trying to live vicariously through Mario eh Muller?” Bastian quips, “is your love-life really that bad?”

“Go away Basti, we can’t all have high-school sweethearts,” Thomas nods towards him and Lukas. “But argh, it’s Marco Reus, that’s all” he groans.

“It wouldn’t end well, I’m a magazine intern and he’s a top model,” Mario laments quietly.

“It worked out pretty well for Mesut,” Manu shrugs, he downs his orange juice, “I mean he’s writing for Spanish Vanity Fair and dating the face of Armani underwear now, I would say things worked out kind of perfectly,” Manu notes.

“Ah I remember when they met,” Lukas sighs. Thomas nods, it is kind of a fashion fairy-tale, the quiet arts writer and the portuguese supermodel.

“Anyway, the moral of the story is let yourself fall in love and you may find yourself working for Vanity Fair and dating a model!” Thomas summarises brightly.

“I thought we all agreed to never mention another publication in this office,” Jogi deadpans.

Everyone scrambles to look like they’re actually doing work.

“We were just talking about Mesut and how uh, how he’s dating Cristiano and working for Vanity Fair, that’s all,” Manu coughs.

“Ah I see, well, I saw them at the last Armani Prive show and they do make a beautiful couple but,” Jogi sniffs, “he chose an awful magazine to desert us for.”

Thomas bites his lip to stifle his laughter, if he remembers correctly, Jogi _cried_  when they threw Mesut a going-away-party.

“Silly boy, _Spanish_  Vanity Fair,” Jogi scoffs.

“I heard they’re engaged,” Basti mentions.

“Ooh, me too!,” Poldi nods.

Jogi gasps, “well, g-good for them, good for them,” he tries to sound nonchalant, Thomas swears he sees tears in his eyes.

 

-

 

“You don’t _have to_ go work for Vanity Fair or move to Spain if you start dating him,” Thomas jokes.

“I don’t know, I just,” Mario sighs and Thomas is reminded yet again that he’s _so young_ , “I’ve,” Mario looks around to make sure no one else is listening, he lowers his voice, “I’ve never had a boyfriend before, and uh before last week,” Mario blushes, “I’ve never actually met a model.”

Thomas laughs, “look, I can’t help you with that but he would only ask you if he was interested right?”

Mario nods reluctantly.

“And then he gave you his number,” Thomas continues, “he would only give you his number if he wanted you to call him, so what exactly should you do?”

Mario rolls his eyes, “call him.”

“A+ for common sense, Gotze, a generous A+ but an A+ nonetheless,” Thomas winks and claps him on the back.   

 

-

 

Benni comes back from Palm Springs with a healthy tan, a memory card full of photos and a girlfriend.

 

In completely unrelated news Mats breaks three windows within the space of 2 hours.

 

-

 

Lisa, _her name is Lisa,_  calls Benni at lunch, it turns out she’s a paralegal and she works a few blocks away from the office. She’s still holidaying in Palm Springs but she’ll be back next week and Benni excitedly tells the whole office he can’t wait for them to meet her. Mats leaves halfway through Benni’s happy chatter.

“Lisa is a stupid name,” he mutters.

Benni’s face falls.

 

-

 

Lukas and Basti start a betting pool on how many more windows Mats will break but Miro catches wind of it and ends that before the day ends. He lectures both of them on _“profiting from the heartbreak of others.”_

-

 

Jogi corners Mats, “either grow a pair of balls and tell him or grow the fuck up and deal with it.”

Mats laughs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His bandaged hand begs to differ.

“Fine, be even more of a thick imbecile if you want, just know that even if you make it your mission to scare off all his potential partners, someone like Howedes will not stay single forever.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> Befriend me: www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com  
> x  
> (BTW: If anyone needs a timeline there's only a month and a few days until milan in the fic)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically this chapter can be summed up by: The media elite at GQ equals a bunch of children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all welcome, trust me, this will make sense, but yeah, you're welcome *winks*

Thomas hands his boarding pass to the attendant. She smiles, red lipstick bright and glossy, and directs him to his seat. He collapses into his plush seat and sighs, _ah how he loves flying first class._ Miro chuckles next to him, “tired already, Thomas?”

Thomas grins at Miro, “you bet, what with the past few weeks we’ve had.”

Miro nods, “that’s true, I didn't think we had it in us to be honest.”

"Where have you been working these past few years," Thomas laughs as the pilot begins telling passengers to stow away any carry on luggage.

 

Three weeks ago

 

“I’m sorry Benni, I didn’t mean to.”

“Fuck you Mats, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“I- I, well yeah but I didn’t want to upset _you.”_

“Well maybe you’ve hurt me in the process, maybe you’ve humiliated me as well, fuck you Mats, you don’t just do that to people. I don’t give a fuck if she’s a bottle-blonde or wears last seasons Saint Laurent pumps.”

Mats closes his eyes and breathes out, “I’m sorry Benni,” he reopens his eyes, “look, I’ll-I’ll go apologise to her, that, that was shitty of me, I’m sorry Benni.”

Benni’s laughter is bitter and devoid of any mirth, “save it,” he begins towards the door, he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “it’s funny isn’t it Mats,” he muses tiredly, “how you’re still _controlling_  and _affecting_  me even when you and I both know you don’t care at all about me.” Benni bites his lip and smile, it’s not a happy one, not at all. “I watch you choose anyone and everyone but me for so long, and _no w,_ and only _now,_  do you choose to get involved when I _try_  and get on with my life by choosing someone else.” Benni whispers, “it’s not fair Mats, it’s not fair what you do to people,” he looks down and then looks straight into Mats’ eyes, “it’s not fair what you do to _me_.” With that he straightens up to leave properly.

Mats doesn’t let him get very far, before long his hand grasps Benni’s in a painfully tight grasp. Benni rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to tell Mats he can fuck right o-

But Mats is kissing him and Benni is helpless. Benni is kissing him back. Benni isn't thinking rationally.

“It’s you, it’s always been you, you and only you, I’m choosing you right now, I’m choosing you even if you punch me, which I probably do deserve, I’m choosing you even if you walk away, even if you decide you’d rather live on a hill in solidarity I’ll fucking choose you, everytime.”

Benni gasps against Mats’ lips. They both laugh nervously, Benni clears his throat, he blushes. “I choose you as-”

Before he can finish, cheers erupt from the other side of the door. The two men watch silently as the rest of the office barrels in to congratulate them.

“You owe me twenty bucks Muller!”

“Psh, Manu, Benni didn’t initiate the kiss, that means you owe me sixty buck!”

“Congrats boys, but please don’t let this affect workplace productivity.”

“Jogi don’t be such a downer, do you guys wanna double-date with Basti and I?”

“You should! We’re going to learn salsa dancing!”

Mats raises an eyebrow and pulls Benni closer to himself, “you guys kind of ruined our moment,” he deadpans. Everyone scoffs, no one apologises.

“Why is no one in the conference room?” Miro asks popping his head into the small room which was definitely not designed to hold this many people, especially when there was flailing and jumping involved.

 

two weeks ago

 

“Thomas if you can’t find those pictures Fips sent for that Hotel feature we may as well just take the whole thing out of the issue.”

“No need to get your panties in a twist Miro I’ll just go grab them directly from Ben-”

Miro pauses when Thomas fails to complete his sentence.

“Thomas? You’ll get them directly from Benni?” Miro asks.

At the same time Thomas yells out, “SERIOUSLY GUYS, ON THE BREAK ROOM TABLE? WE HAVE BIRTHDAY CAKE ON THAT TABLE, EW GUYS NO, LIKE I'M SUPER HAPPY FOR YOU AND ALL BUT **PLEASE** , NOT ON THE BIRTHDAY CAKE TABLE.”

Miro presses a hand to his mouth, his office, _the journalism elite_ , largely consist of children. _And he loves everyone of them._

When a flustered Thomas hands over a manila folder of glossy photos a small voice in Miro’s head warns him, _maybe you love one of them a little too much._

 

one week ago

 

“Just call him already.”

“No he’s probably busy.”

“I’m sure he’s not busy at 5pm on a sunday afternoon Mario.”

“Yeah well I’m sure he _is_.”

“Real mature Gotze.”

“Exactly Thomas, good point, I’m clearly not mature enough for this, not for a relationship and certainly not one with a supermodel with really nice hair and even nicer abs. Plus he has those, those,” Mario points helplessly at his cheeks.

“Dimples?” Manu suggests.

“Yes those! Clearly he is way out of my league and I should just throw away his number, get pissed drunk and just forget about him and his dimples.”

“I don’t really thi-”

“Thank you Thomas, that’s a good idea, that's exactly what I'll do, awesome!"

"Not so fast," Mats yanks Mario back into his seat with one arm whilst keeping his other arm wrapped around Benni's waist. "Sit down and write down a pros and cons list, stat, call it 'Why I Should Get My Head Out Of My Ass And Call The Hot Supermodel Who Is Clearly Interested In Me And Stop Causing My Friends Grief,'" Mats glares at Mario, "well? I don't see you writing."

"You're not really good at giving advice," Benni murmurs into Mats' ears.

"Y-you guys consider me your friend?" Mario asks quietly.

"Don't change the topic!" Mats barks.

"Yes we do," everyone else nods. 

Mario picks up his biro and tentatively begins to write. Everyone else holds their breath.

"... Man you've got nice handwriting," Lukas whispers peering over Mario's shoulder.

Everyone face palms.

 

Present day

 

"Milan," Thomas murmurs to himself as he looks out the window, everything looks so small. "Not just Milan," he thinks to himself, "Milan _with Miro._ "

Thomas' eyes remain carefully trained on the window and the fluffy clouds on the other side, in fact, they're so carefully trained on those clouds that he fails to see Miro watching him affectionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wELL? WAS THAT ACCEPTABLE?  
> Comments + Kudos = Love (and less self control and more chapters from me ;D)  
> Btw: Next chapter is mostly Milan and Miro and Thomas by extension. Brace yourselves. The fun begins.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew a pair of silver paperclip cuff-links could be a catalyst for such surprising events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the flashback to present day (Milan) is a little jarring but bear with me, I felt more clarification was needed. Enjoy this chapter.  
> And this chapter and the next couple will probably be centered around Thomas and Miro so apologies in advance if you're mainly here for the other ships.

_(Flashback)_

_“Wow Benni what would you call that shade? ‘Trailer Trash’ blonde? I never thought you were one for **bottle-blondes,** and were those the YSL Tribute sandals? Good god, how many fucking seasons ago were they popular?”_

_“Stop, Mats, stop.”_

_“No Benni, I’m just getting started, **Lisa** was dripping in Chloe Parfum, what is she **fifteen?”**  
_

_Benni is shaking with anger, “stop this right now,” his voice is dangerously low, he yanks Mats into the break-room and slams the door shut. The only other time Benni has slammed a door shut was when he was violently ill and running on two hours of sleep and caffeine. He apologised for two weeks._

_Everyone listens in silence. Even Jogi has pushed his drafts aside to eavesdrop. Manu has neglected his tea in favour of joining Basti and Lukas in pressing their ears against the door. Fips is frozen at the photocopier, scans clasped in his hand, mouth wide open in shock._

_"Is this a bad time to say that Antonio emailed me flight and accommodation details for Milan?"  Thomas' question cuts through the silence. Everyone nods in a daze._

 

-

 

Thomas likes the assistant they get in Milan. She’s twenty something, endearingly haughty in that seductive European way, she wears a lot of printed pencil skirts and her honey blonde highlights are feminine and professional.

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ears, her blood red nails glint in the sunshine, “you can call me Giovanna,” she drawls. Thomas is momentarily struck by her innate style as well as the confident and the quintessentially _It_ _alian_  way she holds herself, “I will be your Milan affiliate, Antonio told you, yes?”

“Yes, he emailed me, Miroslav, nice to meet you,” Miro smiles warmly and extends a hand.

She nods and shakes his hand, her gaze falls on Thomas, “and you, you are Mr. Muller?” She consults her clipboard, teal patent leather, Armani possibly, _probably,_  “you are Mr. Klose’s _partner_?” she purrs.

Thomas blushes furiously, “no, no, I’m his assistant,” he sputters. His face is hot with embarrassment.

“Oh, I see,” Giovanna has the audacity to smirk and _wink_. Good god, he didn’t mean it was like _that._

“I’m _just_  his assistant, his, Miro’s, I mean Miroslav, I mean Mr. Klose is, uh we’re not like that-”

“He’s just my assistant, Mr Low couldn’t make it this time,” Miro cuts in calmly, a stark contrast to Thomas’ nervous chatter.

“Of course,” Giovanna nods, as she leads them into the atelier she winks again at Thomas. Thomas isn’t so sure he likes Giovanna anymore.

 

-

 

“What did you think?”

Thomas looks up from his planner, “the collection?”

Miro nods encouragingly, “do you think it’s cover material?”

“You want my opinion? Don’t you consult Fips, Jogi and like Mats on stuff like that?”

Miro shakes his head, “I will but first and foremost I’m interested to hear what you thought.”

Thomas thinks for a second, “well it was certainly impressive, I mean all that tulle could have gone so wrong but the thing is _it didn’t._ It was a spectacular collection but I don’t know if it would transition well into magazines, maybe with the right model. But a collection like that is statement making, and you tend to prefer subtle, less in-your face statements,” Thomas furrows his brow in concentration, “I think you would have preferred the Bottega Veneta, it was more understated, it was luxurious but not obnoxious, I think…” Thomas trails off as he notices Miro’s fond gaze.

His icy blue eyes are warm, less like the crisp blue morning sky and more like the warm blue of small waves crashing gently against tropical beaches. The difference, whilst subtle, still awoke those fluttery butterflies in Tomas’ stomach.

"I didn't realise you knew me so well," Miro smiles gently. 

Thomas shrugs, "we've been working together for over five years," Thomas chances a look up at Miro, "it's only natural that I've gotten to know you quite well," he says quietly.

"I had no idea Thomas," he murmurs, he runs a hand through his hair, "I'm really glad I get to work with you everyday Thomas, I don't think I've ever told you that but," Miro's eyes are piercing and Thomas' breath catches in his throat, "but it's true," Miro maintains his intense gaze.

_Thomas doesn't think he's ever wanted to kiss Miro more._

 

-

 

_Miro doesn't think he's ever wanted to kiss Thomas more._

 

_-_

 

"So for tonight just stick by my side, drink some champagne and smile and nod," Miro says as he secures his favourite paperclip cuff-links. 

Thomas gets up to fix Miro's bow-tie, "so basically be your arm-candy?" he jokes.

Miro grins, "in a manner of speaking, yes." Thomas takes a step back to survey Miro in his navy blue Versace suit. Miro spins around, "what do you think?" he raises an eyebrow.

Thomas shakes his head in disbelief, " _of course_ you look amazing Miro," he brushes some imaginary lint off his shoulder, "it was custom-made for you, and plus you always look..." he murmurs. Miro brushes his fingers over Thomas' hand, stilling them. Thomas looks up and is momentarily lost in Miro's stormy gaze, "...perfect." 

"You don't look too bad yourself," Miro breathes, Thomas blinks three times and Miro realises he can count each of Thomas' individual eyelashes. Miro brings one hand up to tilt Thomas' face towards his. For one breathtaking perfect moment it feels like everything is going to slot right into place. Thomas closes his eyes and breathes in and out slowly, his breath is warm against Miro's face, Miro feels light, _so light,_ as if he could just float away, he's ready to seize the moment, damn the consequences.

 _Then there's a knocking at the door._ "Are you two ready to go?" Giovanna calls out from the other side of the door as the two spring apart. 

"Uh, yeah, all good," Miro calls back. He rubs the back of his neck, _when did it get so **hot** in the room. _

Thomas looks preoccupied with his own cuff-links but his cheekbones still sport a dusting of pink.

Miro offers his arm hesitantly, "shall we," he asks. Thomas tentatively latches on, "of course."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think?   
> I may not respond to every comment I still ADORE receiving and reading them. All feedback and suggestions are greatly appreciated :D   
> (Sorry again for the slightly awkward placement of the flashback but on another note I really love snarky Mats haha)  
> Befriend me at www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Milan, for me, is a city of discovery.' - Francisco Costa (Creative Director of Calvin Klein)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're into the nitty gritty now. And don't worry the rest of the ships will be back (in a way) next chapter. But yeah, big things happening.   
> Also Miro cannot use his iPhone (as if we'd expect anything less)  
> I hope you enjoy this one :)

“Ah Miro, you still haven’t introduced us to your, your _charming friend_ ,” Donatella purrs, winking at Thomas.

Miro feels Thomas stiffen by his side, he squeezes his arm comfortingly, “ah, this is just my assistant Thomas, he’s joining me on this trip,” Miro laughs, “I’m pretty hopeless without him.”

Donatella raises an eyebrow, “what a beautiful boy, wasted behind a desk,” she pats his face, she frowns, “and what’s this?” Donatella fingers the lapels of Thomas’ suit.

“Armani,” Thomas shrugs apologetically, Donatella pouts but her frown melts away at Thomas’ boyish smile.

“We’ll have to set Thomas up with some Versace, sometime won’t we,” Miro winks. “If you’ll excuse us,” he nods at the group and subtly tugs Thomas away.

“Don’t worry Miro honey, bring your boyfriend to the atelier and we’ll sort him out,” Donatella calls out coyly.

Miro snags two elegant flutes of champagne, hands one to Thomas and downs the other one in one go. Thomas tries not to stare. Miro groans, Thomas cocks his head, “she’s the fourth person tonight,” he says carefully as he sips his champagne.

“I know Thomas, I’m sorry.”

Thomas chuckles, “I don’t mind.” He motions to a wandering attendant, when he nears Thomas selects another two flutes of golden champagne, the kind of champagne that is so expensive it feels like drinking liquid gold and leaves you feeling warm and light and invincible. Thomas offers one to Miroslav, “ready for round two?” he asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Miro lip curve into a tired smile, “how about you?”

“Always,” Thomas murmurs threading his fingers through Miro’s.

 

-

 

“Oh but you do make such a beautiful couple, Miro I’ve been saying for so long that you need to meet someone and you’ve been hiding someone right underneath our noses,” Antonio gesticulates with his flute of champagne.

Miro opens his mouth to protest but Giovanna cuts in, “oh you should have seen them today,” she smirks at Thomas, “so flustered when he saw our Miro in his suit.”

Miro whimpers inaudibly. Thomas sighs, he stops fighting the stubborn current and gives i.  “Well wouldn’t you?” Miro’s head whips around in surprise. “Who could resist Miro in a suit?” he presses his head to Miro’s shoulder, Miro who is blushing. Furiously.

 _Go with it, go with it so we can get away sooner and get boozed up._  Thomas conveys to Miro with his eyes.  

Miro nods, “to be fair, Thomas here scrubs up quite well too,” Miro rests a hand on Thomas’ waist, “ _my_ Thomas knows his way around a suit.”

“Don’t be modest Miro,” Thomas pokes Miro in his chest, “you _are_  the editor and chief of _GQ._ ” Thomas pauses before pressing a soft kiss to Miroslav’s cheek.

Antonio and Giovanna coo. Miroslav feels lightheaded.

“Uh, Miro, is that Giorgio over there? Don’t we need to discuss… uh that uh… that thing with him?” Thomas asks brightly.

“Yes, yes we do, apologies,” Miro adds.

“Phew, we actually pulled that off,” Thomas beams, “let’s go get boozy Miro!” Thomas yanks Miro towards the tequila.

Miro feels warm and filled with equal parts affection and hope as he watches Thomas knock back shots. _It could just be the champagne but it’s probably not._

-

 

“I should have stopped at shot number eight,” Thomas moans.

“You were already quite tipsy at number three Thomas,” Miro chuckles snapping a photo of the ocean.

“Smugness is unattractive Miro, even for _you_ ,” Thomas sticks out his tongue. He lays back on the chaise, his breakfast still untouched on the glass table. The sea breeze caresses Miro’s face, rooftop breakfasts are a frivolous luxury but one that Miroslav has shamefully come to enjoy immensely. Maybe he’s starting to appreciate the finer things in life as he ages, he snaps another photo of the horizon as he ponders this.

“Stop taking old-man photos of waves crashing on the beach and come eat some breakfast!”  Thomas grumbles, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes.

“How did you know I was taking photos of the beach?” Miro asks over his shoulder.

“Because you’re painfully predictable Miro,” Thomas removes the arm from over his eyes and grins beautifully at the cloudless blue sky. Miro silently snaps a photo and marvels to himself over how oblivious Thomas is to his affect on others.

 

-

 

“Sylwia, I need help,” Miro hisses.

“Do you know what time it is here?”

“I need urgent help Sylwia.”

“You turn your phone on with the big round button, good night Mir-”

“Not about that, I already know that, it’s,” Miro makes sure Thomas is busy chatting to a waiter. “It’s about _Thomas_.”

“Yeah you have the hots for him, breaking news whatever, can I go to sleep now?”

“No, you can’t- wait _what?_ You knew?”

Sylwia laughs then yawns, “honey, neither of you are as inconspicuous as you seem to think you are.”

“Sylwia I don’t know what to do, he’s my **_assistant_** , how much more of a cliche can this become?”

“I don’t know, are you going to start having sex in the office are you?” she muses, “that _would_  be rather cliche-y. It’s best to keep romance out of offices”

“Your jokes are not appreciated,” Miro deadpans.

“I wasn’t joking but in all honesty you just need to step up, grow a damn pair and show him you have feelings for him-”

“But-”

“Don’t interrupt me Miroslav, he is _in-love_  with you, he just… needs a push.”

“I don’t know if I’m up for that, he’s my assistant, and yes, he spills more coffee on his shirts than he gets in mugs, and he’s clumsy, I’ve seen him trip _on his own feet_  walking in a straight line, but I can’t imagine functioning without him,” Miro blushes, “...in the office I mean.”  

“Miro you need to decide how much you want him, and decide if he’s worth it, and _when_  you decide to make a damn move, **text**  me, because **_I._**  Am. Going. To. Bed.”

“But Sylw-”

“Good night and good-luck.”

 

-

 

“Thomas can I, can I talk to you?”

“Sure thing, what's up Miro, do you need help turning on your iPhone agai-"

"That was one time! Can people stop bringing that up?"

Thomas bites his lip to stifle his laughter, "what do you want to discuss?"

"I uh," just confess, just confess and tell him you want to be friends. You need him, _the magazine,_ needs hims too much to risk this on a stupid fling. A stupid **_stupid_** fling that you want so much. _So much._

"You alright Miro," Thomas touches Miro's arm, his eyes are filled with concern. Miro feels spontaneous, which he hasn't felt in years. That being said, he hasn't felt as happy and at relaxed as he has these fast few days in Milan with Thomas. These few days Miro has felt like more than just an Editor and chief, more than a position at a prestigious magazine, more than another name on a 'best-dressed' list, he's felt **_human_**. "Did something happen?" Thomas asks again, _and god, his eyes, the way he's watching Miro, how fucking blind has Miro been, Thomas is **gorgeous.**_

 _Yes, yes something happened._ Miroslav makes a last-minute decision. In that moment, in the warm Milanese spring, in the elegant hotel room, under the ornate chandeliers and aided by hope and spontaneity, Miro kisses Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? sORRY (NOT SORRY) FOR THE ENDINGG  
> (btw how much of a BAMF is Sylwia, love her, irl too)  
> (oh and don't forget about Miro's photographs, they're important *exaggerated wink*)  
> I've appreciated all the kudos and comments thus far! Feel free to befriend me via tumblr and fangirl and/or flail with me about stupid footballers and/or tv shows lmao: www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
> *BOLD* are texts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished my chinese oral exam yesterday and finished this as a reward. I'm pretty happy with this, apologies though for the excessive metaphors and angst.   
> Apologies too for the no doubt numerous spelling and grammatical errors.   
> Enjoy! x

Thomas responds by pulling Miro closer, his fingers find the short hairs on the back of his neck. Miro groans and pushes Thomas up against the wall, resting his hands on the younger man’s hips. They both sigh at the same time, Miro digs his fingers into Thomas’ hips, Thomas bucks up into Miroslav and moans.

 

“Are you ready for the Valentino exhibition?” Giovanna calls out from the other side of the door. Thomas and Miro spring apart. Miroslav sees shock in Thomas' wide eyes, he'd wager that his own eyes are reflecting similar thoughts.

 

“Yeah, yeah, w-we’re fine,” Miro hears himself say. He hears himself say the words but Miroslav feels anything but _fine._   Thomas refuses to make eye-contact with him.

 

-

 

Miro doesn’t offer Thomas his arm at the event.

 

Thomas doesn’t gush about Miro’s suit.

 

-

 

“Good morning, Thomas, how did you sleep?”

“Very well thank you Miro-Miroslav, how about you?”

“Pleasant as well, thank you.”

Thomas stiffly excuses himself from the table. He finds himself in the restrooms and locks himself in a cubicle. He takes a few deep breathes. _It was so fucking easy,_ he laments, _it was so much easier when he could delude himself into thinking he was just harbouring a little crush on his boss. But then Miro had to- had to kiss him and fuck, it was the stuff of fairytales and sentimental love-songs that you roll your eyes at but hum to yourself when no one is paying attention. And then he had to go and pretend nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t held Thomas’ heart, for a few brief moments, in his hands, cradled them to his chest, filled Thomas with so much false hope, only to toss it back onto the ground and pretend he hadn’t done anything at all._

Miro has always been good with projecting his own brand of icy calm and just _togetherness,_  Miro was not the lothario who would grace the cover of gossip rags, stumbling into swanky hotels at suspicious hours of the day. Miroslav Klose was the sinfully saint-like genius, equal parts quiet humility and ridiculous talent. You’d be just as likely to see him cheering his boys on at their weekly football games, as you would spot him perched front and centre at the Dior Pour Homme show.

Thomas Muller on the other hand, Thomas was the clumsy fool who was too loud, too naive and both too odd and too common for someone like Miro. Thomas is the selfish idiot who couldn’t just keep it in his pants and allow the dream Miroslav was to continue to be just that, _a dream_. He bites his lip and fights the tears that had been threatening to spill for the past few days. _If you are his fling, his stupid mistake then… then so be it. His affections were always meant to exist only in your fantasies._

Thomas’ phone buzzes. Manu seems to have texted him.

***Mario finally called Marco. Left a message. Will keep u updated.***

Thomas hopes that Mario has more luck in his love-life.

 

-

 

“Look, I appreciate this… _interest_  you all seem to have taken in my _personal_  life but I left a message and it’s been two days, he probably forgot who I am,” Mario swallows. “I mean he's a model and I’m just…” he gestures vaguely at his jean and t-shirt clad self.

Mats opens his mouth to retort, but a loud bang catches everyone off-guard.

Marco Reus is stood in the middle of the office panting. Mario gasps. “You,” he says gruffly, pointing to Mario.

“Me?” Mario mouths in shock, pointing to himself.

“You,” he affirms, “you don’t call for weeks, nothing, not a peep, and then,” Marco is pulling his phone out of a pocket, pressing some buttons and thrusting it into Mario’s face, “and then this.”

A recording of Mario’s voicemail starts playing, _“uh hey Marco, this is, well this is Mario. You probably don’t remember me but I was the guy from the GQ shoot, and um, we talked, briefly and I, maybe I, I was wrong. But uh, you should, uh you should call, I’d like to get to know you too. Maybe. Uh yeah, this is Mario. Um bye. Oh I hope you're enjoying Paris, I hear it's really nice this time of the year,”_ Marco stuffs the phone back into his pocket and glares at Mario.

“Sorry, I guess, I guess I assumed you were still interested in me but I totally unders-” whatever it was mario was going to say is cut off by Marco lunging at Mario and pressing his lips to Mario’s.

Everyone watches for a few moments. Slowly a few people take out their phones and begin recording. Jogi rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

“Aren’t you meant to be in Paris?” Mats asks after a few moments.

“Left as soon as,” Marco tears his lips away from Mario’s, “as soon as I got the message.”

He then resumes kissing the younger man.

“It’s kind of romantic,” Bastian shrugs.

“Excuse me?” Lukas frowns crossing his arms.

 

-

 

***Marco came 2 office. Kissed Mario. M+M 2gether now. Pretty sure still kissing. Have a safe flight Mulli.***

Thomas’ smile feels forced. At least someone’s love life is going well he thinks tiredly. Thomas feels so hollow he can’t even bring himself to feel jealous, Mario deserves this, deserves happiness. Thomas doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve Miro but if he can earn his forgiveness and continue to bask in his brilliance, then that’s enough for Thomas. He can try to convince himself its enough.  

“Do you think you’ve got enough material for the September edition?” Thomas asks quietly.

 

-

 

Miro looks up from his camera at Thomas’ question. “I hope so, Milan was…” he trails off as his mind is filled with memories of their kiss, “...special.”

Thomas smiles brightly, too bright and too fake. “That’s good, I mean that’s what the trip was for wasn’t it. To gather inspiration and prepare for September,” his smile is tight, so tight, tight and fake enough to hurt, “that’s all.” 

Miroslav nods silently and looks down at his camera when Thomas stares out of the window. Miro’s gaze falls on the picture the camera is open on, the picture of Thomas. It’s a rather extreme close-up, his face fills the whole screen, but his smile, it’s honest, open and utterly beautiful. One arm is flung across his forehead and he seems to be beaming up at the sky. Thomas is beautiful, Thomas is charismatic, true and fascinating in ways that tentatively draw you in, and only when you take a step back do you realise how deep you’ve fallen. Thomas is a force of nature, bright and burning like the sun and if Miro can be but a small insignificant planet that orbits him and feels the warmth of his very being from time to time, then Miroslav can get by.

Miroslav is just a simple man, he is older than Thomas. He can’t give him what he would want, _in fact_ why would he even _want_ Miroslav in the first place anyway. Thomas smiles up at Miro from the camera screen and Miro closes his eyes. He's just a boring old man who would rather spend a day in pyjamas with his boys than don tight pants and go clubbing. Thomas is vibrant, young and deserves so much more. Deserves more than Miro can offer.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> All feedback appreciated ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cranberry juice is not "basically" red-wine.   
> That is all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have exams in the next few weeks so updates may be few and far between (if I maintain strong self-control) or rather frequent (if my self-control dissolves completely). However, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I just realised there's probably only 2-4 chapters left...OH MY GOD

“Maybe you should do it instead of me.”

Manuel raises an eyebrow, “You think _I_  should go and let Klose know that he needs to change the order, and that _you_  need to know which day works better for him so _you_  can coordinate the timetable.”

“...precisely.”

“How about **no**? Why don’t you want to talk to him?"

Thomas stubbornly stays silent.

"What the actual fuck happened in Milan?”

Thomas bites his lip, “nothing, just,” he swallows, “nothing okay,” he insists and snatches the sheets out of his hands.

Manuel watches him with concern in his eyes.

 

-

 

“Is it just me or has Thomas been… less... _Thomas_  as of late?” Mats asks carefully around a glass of red-wine.

“Yeah, ever since he got back,” Benni nods distracting Mats with a peck on his cheek so as to take his glass and dump the wine into the sink.

“Hey!” Mats objects making grabby hands.

“You know the rule, no drinking before midday,” Benni dismisses him. “Anyway this is more important, has Thomas said anything to anyone about it?”

Mats angrily mumbles something about rather having wine than starting this conversation.

“I asked him how the trip was and he looked like he wanted to burst into tears,” Mario says quietly. Benni presses the now filled wine-glass back into Mats’ hands, he downs it in one go and glares.

“What is this?”

“Cranberry juice,” Benni says simply. Mats gags. “It’s basically the same Mats.”

Mats whimpers.

“Has anyone spoken to Klose?” Manuel asks out of nowhere. Everyone shakes their head.

“I spoke to him yesterday,” Jogi says.

“Me too!” Fips nods.

Everyone jumps in shock. “Jesus christ!” “What the fuck?” ”Where did you guys come from?” “Holy crap!”

Jogi and Fips look hurt, “we’ve been here the whole time.”

Lukas is clutching his heart, “the _whole_  time?”

“We didn’t notice you,” Mario explains apprehensively from his position sprawled on the floor. Bastian kindly offers him a hand.

“We’ve got the September issue boys, there’s no time to worry about this. We can sort it out after the shitstorm blows over.”

Fips nods solemnly, “c’mon boys, heads down and let’s get working, it’s a big one.”

Everyone gets up to _actually_  get some work done.

“Which bottle did you open?” Jogi asks Mats eyeing his empty glass.

"It’s cranberry juice,” they share a long-suffering look.

“It’s _basically_  the same guys!” Benni rolls his eyes.

Jogi and Mats snort.

 

-

 

“Everyone’s worried you know,” Manu says evenly as he pins photos to the pin-board. Thomas blushes and fumbles with his stack of photos.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Thomas responds calmly.

“Bullshit, Mulli,” Manu elbows him. Thomas squeals. Manu has pointy elbows.

Thomas pins a photos of the Sicilian coastline to board, his smile is bittersweet, he sighs, “he kissed me,” he says simply.

In the shocked silence Thomas continues, “he kissed me, I kissed him back and now I don’t know where we fucking stand,” his voice wavers as he pretends to admire a picture taken right outside of the Armani show. Thomas looks hopelessly at the way Miro had an arm slung protectively around Thomas’ waist as he fends off the paparazzi. Thomas blinks, "I haven't really spoken to him in days." 

Manu sighs, he engulfs Thomas in a large hug. “I’m so sorry,” he feels Thomas shaking and just hugs him tighter.

Thomas chokes on his tears, “I fucked up Manu, I really fucked up,” he babbles, crying into Manuel’s neck. “I fucked it all up,” he keeps repeating.

 

-

 

“Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?” Mario asks wide-eyed, he grasps one of Thomas’ hands.

“No thank-”

“Are you sure? We have camomile, mint, green and jasmine.”

“No that’s alright, thank-”

“Oh and we have some chai too!”

“No it’s okay!”

“... would you like something slightly more alcoholic then-”

“I DON’T WANT TO DRINK ANYTHING MARIO!”

“Well, if you change your mind,” Mario says slowly, hugging Thomas tightly and pressing his nose into Thomas' cheek whilst patting his back comfortingly.

"Did you speak with Manu?"

"What gave you that idea?" Mario asks faux-brightly.

"Nothing at all," Thomas chuckles under his breath. "Let's talk about something else then, tell me all about you and Marco."

"Things are... things are good. Better than I thought they'd be, much better," Mario sounds a little incredulous, he blushes, "he got me flowers yesterday." 

Thomas smiles encouragingly, "I distinctively remember telling you he was into you," he winks.

Mario rolls his eyes, "shut up," he bites his lip, "I hear you booked him for the September issue though." 

"I may have had something to do with that," Thomas shrugs nonchalantly.

Mario's grin is brightest thing Thomas has seen in a long time, "thank you, Thomas."

"No need to thank me, just don't forget to get into those designer jeans."

Mario sputters and Thomas laughs, for a few moments he feels genuinely happy. For a few moments he can pretend his life hasn't been reduced into pitiful shambles.

 But only a few.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?   
> As always, find me on tumblr here: www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com  
> (Anyone else heartbroken for Thomas? :'( I know I am)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The September issue.  
> One word: Curveball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what to say. Good luck my children.  
> If you're particularly maschostic you can listen to (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kA2lDlZyafk) while you read  
> Oh and there's a reason why the rating changed ;)

“Would you like to explain to me why my office has suddenly become the set of a romantic comedy?”

“It’s technically _my_ office Joachim,” Miro insists half-heartedly.

He ignores him, “a _romantic comedy_ Klose,” he repeats. “First we have Howedes and Hummels _finally_  after _god knows how long_ admit their feelings and now that intern, Gotze is supposedly dating Marco Reus, after a rather extravagant and dramatic declaration I might add."

“I have no issues with Howedes and Hummels and Mario and that Reus boy seem like a cute couple,” Miroslav massages his temple and tries in vain to focus on the review of the latest music festival.

Jogi laughs, loud and frustrated. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Miroslav looks up to find Jogi pointing a long index finger right in his face. _Oh the perils of being friends with someone since the dinosaurs roamed the Earth._ Jogi glares at Miro, “ _ **you**_ are turning into a romantic cliche, Klose,” he jabs his finger.

“Which character am I then?” Miro humours him reclining back in his chair, film review forgotten for the time being.

Jogi pretends to ponder this before rolling his eyes, “the loveable but oblivious knight in shining armour with a considerable chip on the shoulder of said armour.”

Miro is stunned, he doesn’t know what to say, “does Hugo Boss do armour?” he asks warily after a few beats.

 

-

 

You could say that Miroslav is cold and unfeeling but that would be a lie, a harsh and cruel lie, but one that he is well-aware that many believe to be fact.

He’s spent a lifetime putting everything on the backburner to work hard, focus only on work, in order to succeed. In order to become the respected and acclaimed figure that he is today. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have those feelings it’s just that when you’ve spent the better part of your life repressing desires and _feelings_ , well, it’ll take a lot more than an endearingly and charmingly clumsy fool to throw you off course. At least that’s what Miroslav always thought.

Now, watching Thomas trip over his own shoelaces and get a hand from Manuel, he’s not so sure anymore. About anything.

 

-

 

“And afterwards Jogi wants to confirm the layout details, he’ll meet you in conference room 5, Mats has sent you the shots from the Johnny Depp shoot, he wants your insight on the cover shot, then you’ve got lunch with the buyers from Saks, I’ve booked your usual table at that Japanese restaraunt and after that you’re just going through the…” Thomas noticeably shrinks in on himself a little, “ _milan shows._ ”

Miro feels like there’s a heavy weight on his chest, he feels like its smothering his lungs, preventing him from breathing, from clearing his head, from being reasonable. Thomas is retreating and Miro just wants to say something, _anything_ , to just let him know that Miro has been losing sleep, has been unable to think about anything other than Thomas.

“Thomas…”

“Don’t forget your breakfast Miro, you’ve got a big day,” Thomas murmurs quietly over his shoulder before softly shutting the door.

Effectively leaving Miroslav alone with his thoughts.

Miro looks down at his carefully arranged grapefruit, croissant and green tea, looks down and feels like he can’t breathe.

 

-

 

“Go home Mats,” Miro orders gently.

“N-no we haven’t picked the cover shot and a-and I need to photocopy the final shots,” Mats mumbles indignantly.

“Mats, you’re too tired to do anything, come on,” Benni wraps his arm around Mats’ shoulders and murmurs comfortingly.

“Yeah, Miro and I can handle it, don’t,” Thomas yawns, “don’t worry, we’ve got it covered.”

“But deadline is in two hours,” Mats protests.

Benni presses a soft kiss into Mats’ cheek and whispers something inaudible into his ear, Mats turns in surprise. Benni just smiles tiredly and presses another kiss to his surprised mouth, “let’s go home Mats,” he murmurs against his lips.

“Yeah Matsi, listen to Benni, get some rest, we’ve got it covered,” Thomas smiles brightly and wraps an arm around Miro’s middle.

Thomas waves as Benni forcibly yanks an exhausted Mats out of the giant glass doors. He then realises his arm is still wrapped around Miro and quickly retracts it and blushes.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“It’s okay,” Miro doesn’t say how he misses the warmth of Thomas’ arm. He thinks it’s probably better this way.

 

-

 

“I like this shot,” Thomas comments shyly, as he slips the glossy print of Johnny Depp into the display folder.

“So do I,” Miro smiles, Johnny is smiling into the camera, he looks natural, unposed and magnetizing. It really is a beautiful shot, Miro makes a mental note to commend Mats and give him a well-deserved raise.

Manu pokes his head into the room, “are we done?”

“Yep!” Thomas smiles sleepily, patting the display folder.

Manu picks it up and shrugs on his jacket on, “I’m off then,” he salutes the two men.

“Call a cab to Conde Nast, Manuel, it’s late and you look tired,” Miro suggests, concern colouring his tone.     

“Will do,” Manu smiles before waving good-bye.

 

-

 

Miro is perched in his desk when Thomas reminds him to go home. They’re the last people in the office. Thomas shuffles towards him holding his blazer, he drapes it over Miro’s shoulder, “it’s getting late,” he grins crookedly, “or rather, it’s getting early. Either way, you should get home, get some rest.”

“What if I don’t feel tired,” Miro asks, he’s overseen countless, and he _means_  countless, editions of GQ, yet he feels like he’s _buzzing_ , adrenaline humming, putting him on edge, like an fucking amateur.

“Even so, you should get some rest, tomorrow we begin work on the next issue.”

“It never ends does it,” Miro whispers, more to himself than anything.

“I guess, but what we do is so special,” Thomas’ smile is bright and genuine, “I love it.” He then frowns and runs his fingers absentmindedly down Miro’s blazer lapels, “even if you’re being stubborn and refusing to go and rest up.”

“Only because I’m not tired,” Miro challenges defiantly.

Thomas stares right into Miro’s eyes, “I don’t care, you’re not going to work yourself to death on my watch.” Thomas’ hands are still fingering Miro’s lapels.

Miro rests his hands casually on Thomas’ narrow hips. And all of a sudden the mood in the room completely changes. There’s a pregnant pause before both of their resolves crumble. Their lips meet in a hungrily, desperate kiss. There’s no hesitation this time, if anything, just tired resignation, resignation to the fact the Miro's saint-like self control can resist anything but the phenomenon that is Thomas Muller and that Thomas Muller can lie to the world but he cannot lie to himself. Thomas straddles Miro and Miro flings his blazer to the side and spins around to lay Thomas on his desk as he continues to suck a haphazard and random pattern into the skin of Thomas' neck.

The morning sky outside is a darkly entrancing mural or warm corals and pinks weaving their tentative way across a sea of dark indigo and acts as a veil that separates the two men from the harsh reality. The sprawling skyscrapers are alight like an ocean of candles in the urban jungle but Miroslav only has eyes for the beautiful boy spread out on his desk. The **_beautiful, fascinating_** boy that has lead to the downfall of a mighty king. 

Thomas scrabbles blindly for Miro's belt buckle but Miro silences his moans with an insistent kiss and shucks his pants himself. Thomas likewise disposes of his own pants and impatiently pulls Miroslav against him. Practical as ever, Miro tries to push Thomas back, "I, I don't have any, any lube," he breathes heavily, "do you, do you want to stop now? We can still stop."

"No way in hell," Thomas is clawing at Miroslav's back and he tightens his legs around Miroslav. "I don't care about lube, just, just _go ahead_."

Miro presses a kiss to his cheek and sinks into Thomas' deliciously pliant body. It's dry and tight but Thomas arches his back off of the desk and Miro has to bite his lip to prevent himself from growling. It _hurts_ , but its a delicious _burn_ that feels like pushing and pulling, a million tiny hands tugging and scratching underneath Miroslav's skin. Thomas groans hotly and Miroslav slams into him, "oh my god Miro, **_Miro,_**  fuck, so long, I've wanted this for so long," he's babbling mindlessly, fingernails scratching angry lines down Miroslav's back. 

 _Me too, I've wanted this too, for just as long,_  he kisses into Thomas' mouth, kisses those declarations because he cannot bring himself to say them out loud. Thomas' head thunks against he edge of the desk and he whimpers, tenses around Miroslav and comes with a strangled cry that Miro swallows in a burning kiss. 

"Come Miro, come for me, I know you can," he pants against Miroslav's neck, he nibbles and suckles Miroslav's jaw. 

"Anything, **_anything_**  for you," he grunts and he thrusts, _once, twice_ and then he's gone. 

 

-

 

Thomas is quiet as he helps Miro clean up, the early morning light comes in through the glass windows and warms Miro's back as he picks up his blazer. Thomas rubs the back of his neck and avoids Miroslav's gaze, Miro is distracted by the fact his top button is undone, revealing but a sliver of creamy skin. "I'll.. I'll see you around."

He's gone before Miro can even respond.

 

-

 

He doesn't end up seeing Thomas _around._

When Miroslav comes into work later that day he is met by a 205 word email of resignation. 

 

_Dear Miroslav,_

_I'm so sorry about what happened, not just yesterday, but everything, everything that led up to that too. This is one of the many reasons why I must regretfully resign from my position as your assistant. It's unacceptable and completely my fault._

_Working with you, working with the whole team was truly unforgettable and I am so grateful for all that you and everyone else has done for me._

_I must apologise for resigning at such short notice, hopefully Human Resources is able to find someone suitable to fill that vacancy as soon as possible. It truly is a wonderful position and also an amazing company to work for._

_I'm so sorry for messing things up Miro, you've been so kind, so helpful and so encouraging ever since I first began working here, I had hoped I could repay that kindness but sadly it appears that I caused more trouble instead._

_So, with that in mind I have made the decision to leave, I know I've already ruined so much but hopefully this way I've minimised some of the damage as well. My resignation takes effect the moment you read this email_

_I am truly sorry, I hope one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Thomas Muller._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tHOUGHTS GUYS?  
> WHO ELSE WANTS TO GIVE THOMAS BBY A GIANT HUG.  
> (btw I'm really sorry the smut was so awful, it's probably painfully obvious I CANNOT write sexy-times IM SO SORRY)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long road to redemption begins with a single step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry for the long wait, I've had (and still have) exams and I hate to be such a downer but those obviously take precedence to this fic, however I managed to sneak in this update.  
> Enjoy my long-suffering readers!  
> (Apologies in advance for the no doubt NUMEROUS spelling and grammatical errors.)

“Did he say anything about _why_ he resigned?” Manu grits out.

“No he-”

“So you’d have us believe he just _mysteriously_ resigns two days after the most important issue of the year, which he _poured his heart and soul into_ , and traveled all the way to Milan with you, is that so?” Manu narrows his eyes.  

“Well, yes,” Miroslav mumbles.

Manuel places both hands on the large table and pushes himself up to face Miroslav. “I don’t believe that there wasn’t a _genuine reason_ for this rash decision, and he’s not answering any of my calls so I would very much like things to be cleared up,” he snarls. “I just went to hand in the new issue. _**What  the fuck happened whilst I was gone?**_ ” he spits furiously.

It’s deadly silent in Miro’s office and similarly on the entire floor. Everyone is equally desperate to know why Thomas just up and left. 

“Did you do something to Thomas? Tell me!” Manuel’s eyes are cold and his words are biting, biting into Miro's already tenuous grasp on his emotional stability, Miroslav involuntarily flinches. He doesn’t respond, it’s that silence that speaks volumes. Manuel snorts derisively.

“I fucking knew it,” Manu looks hysterical now, “he told you he was in-love with you didn’t he?” Miroslav blinks in surprise. “He did it didn’t he, of course he would, and you rejected him, _didn’t you?”_ Manu is all up in Miroslav’s face, no regard whatsoever to the fact that Miro is in fact his direct-superior. “He’s been in-love with both his job and you since he started working here and you couldn’t have _let him down gently?_ Would that have been too much to fucking ask Klose?” Manu’s accusations are bouncing off the pristine ivory walls of Miroslav’s office.

“I-I had no idea,” Miroslav says slowly, more to himself than anything.

Manu laughs cruelly, “yeah fucking right, as if anyone would believe that,” he turns to leave but changes his mind, “everyone in the building knew, Mats, Benedikt, Lukas, Bastian, Jogi, Fips, everyone, hell,” Manu rolls his eyes, “even my fucking barista who brings coffee to the building fucking knew.” Miroslav shakes his head incredulously and leaves.

Miroslav closes his eyes and wishes, wholeheartedly, that this was all just an awful, horrifying, nightmare.

When he opens his eyes he is met with the cold, harsh reality, this is no nightmare.

 

-

 

“Manu, maybe you should…” Bastian trails off, unsure of what to say next.

“What cool off?” Manuel growls, “I don’t fucking think so.”

Benni places a tentative hand on Manu’s shoulder, which he immediately shrugs off. “I’m going to get coffee, don’t call unless it’s about Thomas.”

Everyone watches his retreating figure worriedly.

“Fix this,” Mats is stony faced. Jogi nods, Mats grabs his wool coat with one hand, "I'm going to try and track down Thomas. You guys hold fort and finalise everything in time," he makes eye-contact with everyone crammed into the break room.

"How are you going to find Thomas?" Fips asks apprehensively.

Mats laughs darkly, "I have my ways." His expression hardens, "keep the office running," he reiterates.

"Will do Matsi," Basti and Lukas sing in tandem, "consider everything under control."

Mats nods once more and storms off, a man on a mission.

Lukas and Bastian make their way towards the photocopier, hands clasped together.

"He's quite the natural leader isn't he," Jogi muses dryly. Benni smiles fondly. "He'll make quite the Editor in Chief, won't he," Jogi murmurs to himself and he heads in the direction of Miroslav's office.

 

-

 

"I fucked him," Miroslav deadpans, he doesn't turn from his position stood, gazing out of his wall-to-floor windows. He doesn't need to, the only person who would inaudibly enter his office without announcing themselves is Joachim. And there's no real point in lying to _Joachim._

If Jogi is surprised he doesn't show it. He remains silent.

"I didn't know he loved me, I didn't fucking realise." He shakes his head, "I thought I was alone in the dark but in actual fact," he rubs his face tiredly, "in actual fact we were both in the blinding light," he continues, "but it was so bright, so bright and blinding that we couldn't see eachother, couldn't see anything at all. How ridiculously ironic is that?"

Joachim sighs. Things were never going to be simple were they. He should have know better than to enter the fashion industry, go into business with one of his best friends and become involved in the personal lives of said best-friend and his hopeless, if lovable, colleagues.

"I really messed up, I messed up, I ruined what little chance I had at everything I could possibly want and I've hurt someone, hurt someone I love," Miroslav's voice cracks.

Jogi crosses his arms, _all business_ , this has gone on far too long, "I don't fucking care."

Miro's head whips around, "what?"

"I don't fucking care," he repeats, raising an eyebrow, "you fucked up Miroslav, that's a fact," he tilts his chin up challengingly, "all I care about is what you're going to do about it now."

 

-

 

_"I fucked him."_

_"I fucked **up.** "_

That's how Thomas and Mats' conversation begins and ends, respectively.

Mats takes a deep breath, "wow."

Thomas laughs helplessly, "yeah, wow, indeed."

"I can't go back."

"Yes you can."

"You don't really need me."

"Yes we do. Everyone needs you!"

"You'll find someone else."

"Miroslav needs you."

"... same response as before," Thomas bites his lip.

"Please reconsider it."

"No."

"Manu really chewed out Miro today."

"..."

"He defended your honour really well, you would have loved it," Mats smirks.

"Uh-"

"No seriously, there were lots of f-bombs," Mats insists.

"Mats, why are you here?"

"Because someone needs to knock some sense into you," he winks.

"Seriously Mats," Thomas says in a small voice.

"Because I give a fuck about you," Mats says plainly.

"... I'll consider it," he relents.

"Good, still have anymore issues?"

"Mats, I fucked up."

Mats just shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, he pauses, chuckles affectionately, "everyone does."

 

-

 

Miroslav fingers the edges of the photo absentmindedly. 

His resolve hardens. He picks up his phone and presses a few memorised numbers.

"Philipp, could you come into the office? I need to ask you a favour about the cover."

_"Sure, is there something wrong with it?"_

Miroslav's eyes brush over the bright smile he will never be able to ever see again should he not act quickly and fearlessly. "Sort of," Miro tucks the photo into his pocket. "I want to make a last minute change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? All feedback, comments & kudos are much appreciated.  
> As always, find me on tumblr at: www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don Quixote quotes give me life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaack! ;) Sorry for essentially ditching you guys, here is the new chapter and boy is this one a doozy (but the good kind)  
> As always, enjoy!

Philipp clears his throat, “it’s a uh… bold choice.” The rest of the boardroom is painfully silent. The choice certainly is **bold.**

Jogi chuckles, “didn’t think you had it in you Klose,” he leans in so no one but Miro can hear what he says next, “I’m begrudgingly impressed.”

Jogi claps him on the shoulder and herds everyone else out. Before he leaves Philipp turns around and regards Miroslav, “you’re doing the right thing,” he smiles.

Miroslav just nods his thanks.

_Here goes._

-

 

“Sancho, my armor, my sword,” Jogi murmurs amusedly.

Mats just grins wolfishly whilst he juggles a display folder and a manila folder whilst shrugging on his thick coat. “Quixote? Really Jogi?” Mats raises his eyebrow.

“It’s a classic,” Benni rolls his eyes, not looking up from his newspaper. Jogi points to him as if to say, _"yes, this guy."_

Mats tsks but nonetheless pecks Benni on the cheek before he leaves.

 

-

 

Mats slips into the cab after he drops of the final proofs at Conde Nast HQ. “Uh The Coffee Bean please,” he tells the cab driver. The manila folder feels like it’s burning a hole through his cashmere sweater.

It better not, the sweater is Margiela.

Mats checks anyway.

I mean the sweater _is_  Margiela.

 

-

 

“Don’t flip out okay,” Mats warns placing the folder on the table. 

Thomas scrutinises him and takes a sip of his hot chocolate, “it depends on the contents of that folder,” he eyes the folder suspiciously. Mats just laughs at him as he hangs his coat on the back of his seat and settles down. “Speaking of which,” Thomas idly runs his fingers over the surface of the cream folder, “what _is_  exactly in this folder?”

Mats leans back in his chair, “oh, just the final proofs of the next issue,” he smirks nonchalantly as Thomas gasps.

“I don’t think I should read this then,” Thomas reluctantly pushes the folder across the table towards Mats. Mats fucking _cackles_ , in one swift movement he flips the folder open to the cover shot. Thomas’ jaw drops.

“It’s really the only piece that matters, I only included the rest on the off chance you were in need of reading material,” he says conversationally.

Thomas’ mind is painfully blank. It’s painfully blank because he is looking down at a picture of himself, of himself smiling in the early morning sun. Correction: the Milanese early morning sun. One arm flung over his forehead, mouth stretched into a carefree smile. It’s a surreal feeling, Thomas remembers that exact moment, even remembers the exact teasing comment he had tossed at Miroslav. What he doesn’t remember is being photographed.

“If this is some sort of a joke, this isn’t fucking funny,” he says carefully and lowly.

Mats purses his lips, “don’t be modest Thomas, you look wonderful, certainly worthy of a cover shot, in fact,” he rests his chin on his knuckles, “Klose himself requested this shot be the cover. Caused the office quite a bit of grief actually.”

Thomas is slowly shaking his head, Mats is alarmed to notice a few stray tears trickling down Thomas’ cheeks.

“Fuck Thomas, I’m not kidding,” he confirms squeezing his arm, "he did this for  _you,_ you are aware of that right?" 

Thomas can't tear his gaze away from the glossy picture of himself, currently smiling up at, well, himself. He nods. "Wow," his fingers tentatively brush over the image, he never noticed how the light catches on his cheekbones. How the bags under his eyes are offset by the brightness and warmth radiating from his smile. The photo's focus is undoubtedly Thomas, something in his stomach flutters. His gaze lingers on the content expression that graces his face. The corners of his lips twitch upwards. He hears Mats tell him to return the folder whenever he likes. He also hears him leave but Thomas is still frozen.

He swallows thickly. Miro took this, not only did he take this photo but he used the picture, has plastered it over the cover of one of the most popular magazines in the world like a delicate heart sewn carefully on his sleeve. 

"The L-Word: Love. What are we so afraid of?" he reads the headline aloud.   

Miro is in love with him. Little old him. Thomas Muller. 

Thomas orders a stronger drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference the photo is sort of like this one's pose   
> http://static.entertainmentwise.com/images/52ea82a05515d.jpg   
> and KIND OF (but less) like   
> http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/05/05/article-2620925-1D96B0AE00000578-538_634x631.jpg   
> HOWEVER the smile more closely resembles this one   
> http://www.pinterest.com/pin/380624605979748648/
> 
> BUT PICTURE THOMAS BBY
> 
> Phew, anywaysies, thoughts? (How romantic is Miro bby though?)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas' face is everywhere. The implications are enlightening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, here goes. First and foremost I would like to dedicate this chapter to the lovely and supportive BundesligaMadridista, happy birthday my dear! Thank you for your continued support, you deserve to have the most amazing birthday ever (omg just realised my birthday is next week lol) and if an update on a stupid fic is what you so desire, than I will do my best!   
> To the rest of you SORRY THIS IS SO LATE, I have been way too busy (see: lazy) relaxing after exams haha. You should thank BundesligaMadridista for, basically, forcibly dragging me out of my lazy stupor haha.   
> This chapter is largely filler but it needs to be written, next chapter will be something else, I promise you my lovely readers :) x

Thomas watches on as his face fills newsstands and stares back at him on the subway. It's an oddly surreal feeling, the carefree, sunny face plastered on what seems to be any and every plaster-able surface in the city is a stark contrast to the confusion evident on the other face. The other face. His face.

The face currently staring dumbstruck at the cover of the magazine clutched in the hands of the young executive sitting opposite him. Her eyebrows are knit in concentration as she reads, needless to say she does not notice Thomas.

Thomas quietly leaves, for the first time in a long time, his own face feels unfamiliar.

On the way home he succumbs to curiosity and purchases his own copy, for a moment Thomas is captivated by the honest joy in his smile, he examines it tiredly and wishes he could go back to simpler times when he could fool himself into thinking he was just harbouring a harmless crush on his hot boss. 

Thomas avoids eye contact with the cashier as he pays, the woman hands him his change and magazine disinterestedly. She doesn't look up once. Thomas is infinitely grateful. 

Thomas turns the magazine so his face is pressed against his thigh instead of smiling up at him. 

 

-

 

After two weeks Miroslav has no choice but to respond to HR's numerous requests and hire a new assistant. Her name is Evelyn.

She's competent enough, she types at the speed of light and familiarises herself with Miro's timetable within days. 

Evelyn only refers to him as Mr. Klose despite his repeated insistence that Miro or Miroslav is fine.

Miro doesn't mind the name thing so much, but she makes the grave mistake of tutting at the drawer full of Thomas' old post-it notes. 

Miroslav rescues them from the recycling bin when she throws them out. He may or may not spend an afternoon carefully pasting them on his window.

 

-

 

"You're working overtime again?" Miro can picture Sylwia pursing her lips over the phone. Even the mere mental image makes him wince.

"Yes, the response to last month's issue was good and I want to keep the momentum going."

Sylwia pauses before she speaks again, "you're taking this breakup badly."

Miroslav massages his temple, "Sylwia..." he warns.

"No don't _Sylwia_ me, a breakup is exactly what it was," she sniffs, Miroslav knows better than to try and cut her off, "burying yourself in work won't make the problem go away." Her tone is soft.

"Good night Sylwia," Miroslav hears shuffling as the phone is passed around. 

"Daddy when are you coming hooome?"

"Yeah you always come home late and leave early!"

"I'm sorry boys," Miro's voice cracks despite his best efforts, the last thing he wants is for his children, _his beautiful boys,_ to get caught in his self-made shitstorm, "I'm very busy right now but I'll be home all weekend," he assures them.

"Will Thomas come by on the weekend?"

"He hasn't come over in ages dad. "

"He still owes us a football game," Luan reminds him.

Miroslav feels his like he can't breathe, as if his throat is closing up. How did he not notice how Thomas has burrowed his way under Miro's skin, into his heart and built a home, _no,_ built a _palace_ there, only to disappear and leave the throne abandoned and empty. How did he not notice that Thomas was not just _his_ ray of light but rather one that shone so bright, bright enough that all those around him could bask in his dazzling light.

Miroslav feels tired and dull, like he has been plunged into eternal darkness, without Thomas' bright, vibrant light.

"I don't know darling," Miroslav eventually answers.

"I miss him dad."

"Do you miss him."

"Yes I do my darling," Miroslav hangs up. His tears are heard only by the empty office.

 

-

 

(a week later)

Mario giggles and instantly blushes embarrassed. Mats throws him a withering glare, "we're discussing serious issues here Mario."

"Sorry, it's just now is the ideal time to text," he shrugs, "it's 8:30 in London," he adds.

Mats scoffs, Benni shushes him and smiles encouragingly, "so everything is going well then?" he asks gently.

"Yeah, I mean, he's busy, and uh, and so am I but.." Mario is blushing furiously now, Lukas and Basti are cooing, "but it's _nice,_ " he finishes lamely. 

"I heard you celebrated his birthday together," Benni's smiles warmly. 

"Well we just, we watched a movie together via skype, it was, it was-"

" _Nice_?" Bastian suggests, Poldi is honest to god giggling by his side. 

"Yeah, it was, it was nice." 

Mats stands up suddenly, "is this because I forgot your birthday?" he accuses.

Benni looks confused, "no."

"It is!" Mats insists, "look I said I was sorry, I hadn't slept properly in weeks and I was running on excessive amounts of caffeine and vodka, it's was an accident-"

"I was just being a good friend, there was no ulterior motive Matsi, for god's sake, why can't I just be a friendly and kind person if I want to, what's wrong with that?"

"There's nothing _wrong_  with it but-" 

"Am I not allowed to ask Mario how his date went? Out of pure genuine curiosity and care for a friend?"

Mario looks scared, "I don't really mind-"

"BE QUIET MARIO!" they yell in unison.

"Trouble in paradise, eh?" 

"SHUT UP POLDI" more creepy couples telepathy. 

"As if you never fight," Mats rolls his eyes, Benni raises an eyebrow in agreement. Mario is glancing between the two couples not bothering to hide his interest. 

"We don't fight."

"Never," Bastian nods.

"Actually there was that one time in Greece."

"No it was Rome."

"Right, Rome, I was going to pay and you wanted to argue with me. You always were a gentleman weren't you?"

"It was probably just because Rome was so beautiful."

"Especially at night." They look at each other lovingly. 

"How did they manage to turn even _that_ discussion into a soppy mess?" Mats sounds incredulous.

"The magical powers of Schweinski?" Benni suggests wryly.

"Probably," Mario agrees, nose scrunched up.

 

-

 

"He's delightful, you must tell me if he's already signed or not, the industry is crying out for his look. Cheeky boy-next-door meets and gets corrupted by the dark, and mysterious older boyfriend, so delightful, no?"

Miroslav herds her questions, _no Thomas is not signed to an agency, but no he is not a model, no Miroslav is not hoarding him for his own magazine, of course no other agencies have enquired (false: DNA, Wilhelmina, IMG and NEXT have **all** already contacted him) and lastly, no Miroslav does not think he can be persuaded to consider an occupation switch. _

"Where did you manage to find him though Miroslav? My scouts don't know anything about him!"

"He uh, he was..." Miroslav chooses his words carefully, "he's a friend," he settles on.

Miroslav wonders if he brought all this on himself by putting Thomas on the cover and essentially placed large neon signs next to the heart sewn defiantly on his sleeve.

Miro knows one thing though, _delightful_ doesn't even begin to describe Thomas' beauty, in fact it's an insult to his brilliance.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts?  
> As always, find me at bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com  
> All feedback and kudos thus far have been greatly appreciated :) x


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Plot twist + implicit cliche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short and probably rife with spelling and grammatical mistakes (written in like two hours lol) but I just HAD to update!   
> Enjoy the copious amounts of drama and return to the crack-y roots of this fic!   
> (thE END IS NEAR *hyperventilates*)  
> x

_"Are you sure Thomas, I mean it's a big move, are you a hundred percent sure about this?" Mesut asks carefully. Mesut has always been careful, quiet, thoughtful and in many ways, everything Thomas was not. Perhaps that was why he was seeking his assistance in his moment of need._

_"Yes I am, unless you don't have a job for me Mesut," Thomas replies calmly, ignoring his own nervousness._

_"No, no, of course I do! It's just... " Mesut trails off._

_"It's just **what** Mesut, spit it out." _

_"It just seems like you're running away," a voice supplies, calling out in the background. Mesut immediately shushes, presumably, Cristiano._

_"I'm so sorry about that," Thomas hears more scolding down the line, "but, you have to admit, it's quite hasty. Are you sure you don't need more time to think it over?"_

_"I've already booked my ticket Mesut, I leave Friday, just tell me I have a job."_

_"We already have a desk set up for you and everything," he says quietly._

_"I can't wait," Thomas hangs up, unable to hold back his sobs._

 

-

 

"That's bullshit, you can't just _move to Spain_ because you can't handle, no, don't want to deal with all this shit, Thomas, what the fuck?"

"You should lower your voice, that barista looks worried."

"Don't try to change the subject, he just knows me because I get my coffee here everyday, why are you leaving?"

"He's kind of cute, you know, maybe you should ask him out. It's been ages since you've been on a date-"

"Thomas."

Thomas looks up from his mug at Manuel's concerned tone, he puts his mug back down, "I need a fresh start, Mesut's got me a great gig, sure, it's mainly admin but it's something."

"You can't go Mulli, I won't let you," Thomas closes his eyes, the pain in Manuel's voice along with the use of his nickname.

"I leave next Friday," Thomas adds softly. "They say Madrid is beautiful this time of the year."

"Please don't-"

"Please don't cry Manu, I'm acutely aware of the fact that the barista looks like he thinks I'm making you cry and wants to kill me."

Manu snifflesindignantly , "you still didn't answer me Thomas, why are you doing this?"

Thomas absentmindedly traces the rim of his mug, "Miro- Mr. Klose," he amends, "deserves to get to live his life without me causing trouble," he shrugs self-deprecatingly, "he's got two amazing kids, intelligence, style and a successful magazine empire, if I barely fade into the background, how am I meant to fit _into_ it the picture?"

"Don't you fucking dare sell yourself so short, you're my best friend and one of the kindest, most genuine and beautiful people I know, Miroslav would be lucky to have you," he chuckles softly to himself, "he's also been a wreck without you," he raises an eyebrow, "he's been caught gazing out of the window and at your stupid post-it notes."

"He's better off without me Manu, he-he's Miroslav Klose and I'm just Thomas," Manu shakes his head but Thomas doesn't let him interrupt, "I choked on my own saliva today Miro, **_my own saliva_** , I thought I was dying. Miroslav interviewed Karl lagerfeld and my own bodily functions are trying to end me."

"Are you okay Manu?" They both look up to find a barista standing over them, eyes narrowed. 

"Oh I'm fine, just uh, just a little disagreement," Manuel smiles tightly, Thomas watches the barista bemusedly, he reads the name' Christoph' scrawled on his nametag. 

Christoph's shoulders relax but his eyes remain narrowed, "is this your boyfriend?"

Thomas chokes on his hot chocolate, Manu rolls his eyes and thumps him on his back, "no this is just my friend Thomas."

Christoph releases a sigh of relief, realisation then dawns on him, his eyes light up, "oh! Thomas who slept with his boss, the same boss he's in-love with?" 

Thomas' slumps down, head thunking against the wooden table-top, "your **barista** knows? Who the fuck does't know, Manuel?"

"Sorry," he winces apologetically.

"Yeah sorry about that," Christoph adds.

Thomas blinks and sighs, "I'm still going," he says eventually.

 

-

 

"Yo Manu, where have you been?"

"Around, where's Klose?"

"Where else? Pining in his office."

"I need to talk to him."

"Hey have you spoken to Thomas?"

"No time Mats, gotta talk to Klose."

"Aye aye."

 

-

 

Miroslav looks away from the window at the sound of the door opening. He's surprised to see Manuel leaning against the door frame. 

"I'm still angry, I've still lost a lot of respect for you, but this is your chance. Hell, it's probably your **_last_** chance. He's leaving for Spain this Friday. Today is Thursday."

 _"Spain?_ "

"Madrid to be exact,"  he purses his lips, "Mesut got him a job at Vanity Fair." 

Miroslav swallows, "good for him."

Manu takes pity on him, "he doesn't _really_ want to go. He just, _stubbornly,_ thinks he has no other option."" 

"Friday you say," Miroslav has a glint in his eyes. A dangerously hopeful glint in his eyes. 

"Friday," Manuel nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcomed!  
> As always, find me on tumblr at bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Airports, colour metapohors, protests, bets, Love Actually.   
> Not in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this has taken so long. I have been going through some writer's block and wow, that's not fun (more in end notes). Hopefully you enjoy this chapter. As always, all errors and mistakes are my own. x

Thomas avoids the many stalls selling magazines in favour of a cup of coffee at a small cafe. He looks out at the runways, like roads leading to new beginnings.

He just feels so  _exhausted,_ maybe Mesut was right, maybe he's just running, maybe he's a bit of a coward. _Better a coward than a fool who falls for his boss,_ his mind helpfully adds. 

He picks up his boarding pass, yes, he made the right decision.

_Right?_

 

-

 

Of course today of all days there would be some pride march on the streets. For fucks sake, don't they realise that they were, quite literally, standing between a very homosexual  and very romantic gesture. Miroslav rolled the window down and flagged the closest protester, a man wearing a rainbow wig with a megaphone, "I'm sorry, I'm trying to get to the airport-"

"Well **we're** trying to get equality and eradicate homophobia, darling," he purrs, rolling his eyes.

"But I need to get to the airport, my-, the man I'm in love with is flying to Spain today," Miroslav pleads desperately. 

The man lowers his comically large purple sunglasses, "and you're going to stop him?" he quirks a brow.

"Yes, well," Miro gestures to the chaos around them, "I'm trying to, if I miss this flight he's gone, please."

The man nods, he then claps Miroslav on the back, much to Miro's surprise, "I love romantic gestures," he smiles crookedly. With that, he raises the megaphone to his lips, "listen up everyone, Dylan here, we need to let this man through to go chase down the man who is the love of his life, so allies, please move to either side of the road! And hurry, he looks like a hunk!"

The crowd cheers and parts like the red sea, Miroslav hastily thanks Dylan and on second thought tells him to head to the GQ building and tell them who he is, "I'm the editor-in-chief," Dylan's eyes widen, "I'll explain everything to them, but when I get back, I'd love to feature this protest."

Dylan grins, as Miroslav winds up the window, he pats the taxi and mouths, "good man," Miro smiles back. As the taxis speeds off he hears Dylan on the megaphone again, this time he hears, his name being chanted. He looks back and watches the crowd come together again and wave rainbow streamers and signs. 

 

-

 

"$50 says he doesn't make it in-time," Poldi says breaking the silence. Everyone glances up in surprise. 

"How can you bet on something like this," Benni says softly, Mats tangles their fingers together. 

"I think he's just trying to lighten the mood," he whispers softly into his ear.

"It's not right," Benni shakes his head, his shoulders are hunched.

"He _has_ to make it," Mario says looking forlornly out at the protest. Bastian ruffles his hair. The corner of Mario's mouth twitches up. Only just.

 "What if he doesn't make it though," Fips raises an eyebrow, pragmatic as always. "I mean we're _assuming_ that he's on the 4:25 flight, it's possible he's on a different one, it's possible he lied and he actually left last night."

"He wouldn't lie," Manu says indignantly, "not to me." He crosses his arms, "if he said Friday, I'll believe that."

"Are you sure he wouldn't lie to soften the blow?" Jogi muses. "He would have known that this would hurt you most of all," he snorts, "aside from well," he nods towards Miroslav's, now empty, office. Fips nods and Manu deflates. 

Everyone just gazes out the window.

Christoph clears his throat loudly, he makes eye-contact with Lukas, Christoph takes a deep breath and smiles softly, "$60 says he gets there just in time."  

Lukas grins and gets up to shake his hand, the room fills with something that feels dangerously like **hope.**

 

-

 

Miroslav has seen plenty of romantic films (Love Actually is Sylwia's favourite), he knows exactly how this is meant to work. However Manuel had already texted him is ludicrously overpriced last minute tickets so at least he has the advantage of being prepared. Despite all this his hands shake and he finds himself tapping his foot all through customs, much to the chagrin of the customs officer.

He all but runs through the duty free shops, his mind chants Thomas' name. in time to his thumping heartbeat.

 

-

 

Thomas puts the mug down and stands up. He picks up his bag and begins to make his way to his gate. He smiles at a waitress and leaves as she does a double-take.

At least he won't be recognised where he's heading. 

 

-

 

Miroslav brushes off a few girls who stop him to take a photo. He doesn't have time for this. A few people recognise him and insist on crowding around him and Miroslav wants to cry out in frustration. He's so close, he can fucking taste it.

(Can taste Thomas)

 

-

 

Thomas slowly meanders towards his gate, he always thought it would feel more climatic and less... less like finally being able to collapse into bed after completing the September issue (like giving up).

A man is grumbling about stock-prices, apparently some pride march is preventing an important meeting from taking place. Another woman is trying to feed her toddlers food. A few teenage girls are tittering about some celebrity being sighted. They giggle loudly and Thomas feels a headache coming on. Thomas is too distracted by the feeling that every step he is taking is taking him further away from the mess his life has begun and closer to his new beginning.

 

-

 

AIrport security turns up and Miroslav is able to dash off. He spares no thought for how wrinkled his suit must be and how deranged he must look.

Now isn't the time to worry about that. 

The flight leaves soon.

 

-

 

Thomas likes airports, how sterile and sleek they are. Sure, they used to seem cold and impersonal, but that's what Thomas needs right now. A break from the shitstorm inside his head. He admires the various shades of grey, a matte charcoal used for the seats, the dove grey of the window frames, the ashen carpet with flecks of white, the smokey taupe of the walls and the silvery sheen of the desks the flight attendants are standing behind.

 

They say grey is conservative, subdued and boring, but it's also elegant, wise and composed. _Like Miroslav,_ his tired mind supplies. He blinks.

But grey is also indecisive, grey is detached and emotionless. _Like Miroslav?_ he asks his mind, sharp and cutting. There is no response. Of course there isn't. Thomas is talking to himself about shades of grey. He's toeing the fine line of insanity.

He thinks he hears a girl whisper Miroslav's name excitedly but he just dismisses that as just another result of his instability.

As he drifts off into a light doze he is reminded of how bright Miroslav's eyes looked right before he kissed Thomas.

_Not completely emotionless at that moment in time._

 

-

 

Miroslav's eyes search for the sign indicating gate number 48, his eyes dart around and he's filled with relief when his eyes land on the silver sign.

His eyes fall on the people scattered around, reclining in the rows of seats. A voice begins to announce first class passengers flying to Madrid, Spain can begin boarding over the speakers.

 

-

 

Thomas is startled out of his dream, _(grey waves, grey sky, blue eyes)_   as he is called to board.

Perhaps this holiday was long overdue.  

"Flight 506 to Fiji, gate 13, passengers may begin boarding the aircraft."

 

-

 

"Please present your passport and boarding pass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I changed this chapter right before I started writing is because I couldn't bring myself to write your cliched airport reunion scene.   
> On a sidenote: sorry for all the 'grey' stuff, I'm only just realising how "50 shades of grey" is sounds lmao, totally intentional, I promise!  
> As previously stated, I'm going through some writer's block (as well as some personal stuff) and I'm going away for a few days this Saturday so I won't be writing for a while. Don't worry I am NOT abandoning this story, it may just be a few weeks until an update or even a few days or a month or two, I really don't know.   
> Im so sorry to everyone who has been faithfully reading this story, you are all amazing (especially Lucorka and Naina on tumblr).   
> Thank you for all the feedback and kudos so far <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Padding, but padding with banter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back.

Mesut opens the door and arches a brow, “I had no idea the circus was in town,” he says dryly.

Cristiano beams from over his shoulder, “come in, come in, we thought you’d be arriving later today,” he flashes them all a megawatt smile, it’s not too hard to see why photographers and designers alike salivate at the mere thought of working with him, “and uh, we assumed Miroslav was the only one who would be making the trip.”

Mesut’s right eye twitches as Lukas inspects some spinach stuck between his teeth in the large, ornate mirror in the hallway. It _has_ been a while since the whole gang has all been together. 

Cristiano rests a hand on Mesut’s waist and squeezes gently, good timing too, Mesut looks like he’s _this_  close to snapping and they’re not even through the hallway, “we just had lunch, there’s leftovers if you’re still hungry,” Cristiano offers.

“Thanks Cris, I always knew I liked you,” Mats brushes past Mesut and claps Cristiano on the back, “don’t let this one go, Mes,” he calls out brightly from the kitchen. Cristiano looks thrilled, Mesut looks unamused.

“No, no, please, make yourself at home,” Mesut mutters. Cristiano presses a kiss to his temple, some of the tension leaves Mesut’s shoulders.

Poldi’s grin is shiteating, “hey Mes, you smell really good, is that,” he winks obnoxiously, “ _Armani?_ ”

Mesut colours, he opens his mouth to retort but Jogi beats him to it, “you always did like Europeans didn’t you?” he leans against the door-frame and raises a brow coolly towards Cristiano, who is reheating leftovers for Mats, Bastian and Mario. Mesut is now blushing furiously and Pold’s laughter is loud enough to fill the entire house. Which it does. 

Manu dumps his bag on the floor, he looks anxious and on edge, he cuts to the chase, “Thomas arrives tomorrow right? 12:30, just before lunch, Madrid–Barajas Airport, right?”

“Correct,” Mesut confirms, “Cristiano will drive Miroslav to the airport to meet him there,” he smiles wryly, “Thomas has no idea.”

Manu nods, he runs a hand through his hair, Mesut allows himself a small playfl smile, “where’s this supposed cute barista everyone’s been telling me about?”

Manu coughs, “Christoph has work, he couldn’t make it.”

“Loverboy is all broken up about it,” Bastian calls out from the kitchen, mouth pull of paella. Lukas fucking giggles. Manuel rolls his eyes but doesn't refute the claim.

Miroslav quietly sits down on the couch. After a few moments Benni settles down next to him, he doesn’t say anything but he does pat his knee comfortingly, “it will all work out,” his smile is equal parts warmth and encouragement.

Mesut plops himself down next to Miroslav as well and offers him a glass of mineral water, Miroslav observes each minuscule bubble eventually float up to the surface where they remain, suspended in the clear liquid. This action provides him with the barest semblance of comfort.

Mesut squeezes Miroslav’s elbow, “you’d regret it if you didn’t at least try,” he lowers his head shyly, “trust me.”

Miroslav’s smile has a tang of bitterness, “it seems like the universe is against it.”

Benni nods understandingly but with finality, “then you’ll just have to take a leap of faith won’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas darlings, I am back and writing sooner than I had originally thought (yay). I was going to add more to this chapter but I'm gonna save that for next chapter plus I really wanted to post something on Christmas for my lovely and loyal readers!  
> I'm sorry for how short this chapter is and the fact that is essentially padding/ filler, and while we're at it it's probably riddled with spelling and grammatical errors. Hopefully you like it regardless!  
> (Btw next chapter will have some of Miro's inner thoughts and confessions as well as some Crozil backstory because those two are my original otp *cries*)  
> Happy Holidays to each and every one of you :) xx


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More padding, next chapter will focus on Thomas bby and his holiday. Sorry to those who aren't as emotionally invested in Cris/ Mesut, this chapter mainly explores them because self control is a non-existent concept to me.  
> Oh and Happy New Year lovely readers!

Miroslav watches through the window as Mats waves a hanky dramatically, Benni smacks his forearm half-heartedly.

 

"Is he always so...," Cristiano trails off chuckling. In the past twenty-four hours or so Mats has offered, _no_ , appointed himself as Cris and Mesut's best man a total of eighteen times. Mesut looked like he was seriously considering choking him with his platinum, diamond studded engagement ring.

 

"In short?" Miro smiles, "yes." They both laugh.

 

Mario waves a bunch of churros cheerfully, Miroslav should worry about how quickly and intensely the intern has taken to Spain but he’s got bigger things on his mind as of now.

 

Manuel watches on stoically, Miroslav is struck by admiral for his loyalty to friends and mild envy that Thomas has someone so devoted and invested in hiswellbeing.   

 

-

 

"This feels like a huge mistake," Miroslav muses aloud as buildings all blur into one endless mass of colours. Like a single hazy snake following the Miroslav’s journey faithfully, it only adds to the pressure.

 

Cristiano doesn't even look away from the traffic, "your just standing on the edge of the cliff and you haven't decided whether or not to jump."

 

"Sounds an awful lot like a huge mistake," Miro murmurs dryly.

 

Cristiano tears his gaze away from the sea of cars, his chuckle is amused, "it's really not," his soulful brown eyes are piercing, "it's a fucking wild ride but it's the most rewarding and life-changing one you may ever take," he grins, “though you don’t exactly take it by choice.”

 

Miroslav deflates a little, "but what if it's not," he says quietly, "what if, god, what if I'm the last person he wants to see?" He rubs his face tiredly, “not just now, but… but ever?”

 

Cristiano nods, he trains his gaze back onto the congested traffic situation, "you won't be," he says softly, "trust me..." He runs a hand through his gelled hair, he flashes a beautiful but wry grin, "do you remember how adamant Mesut was that he would never date, and I quote, _a guy like me?_ "

 

Miro chuckles in spite of himself, "you pursued him for three months, in fact, now that we're on the topic, how did you keep it up that long?"

 

Cristiano also grins good-naturedly, "I think I kept a couple different florists afloat during the courtship through my patronage alone," he laughs but then grows solemn, "the truth is, Mes thought he didn't want anything to do with me because he had this false idea of who I was and how I felt about him." His smile morphs into a softer more affectionate one, "he didn't realise how serious about it, about him... about us." Miroslav blinks, Cristiano continues, “I knew that I had to show him who I really was and so I did.”

 

There is a comfortable pause, Miroslav smiles eventually, “and now you’re engaged,” Cristiano’s smile grows absurdly bright.

 

“Now we’re engaged.”

 

Miroslav is rendered somewhat speechless.

 

-

 

Cris frownss as he spots a car park on the other side of the road. A silver prius seems to have also spotted it, _and that's just an insult,_ Cris isn't going to lose a park to a fucking prius. Cristiano's foot instinctively inches towards the accelerator. 

 

“Did you ever consider just giving up, or that he just wasn’t interested, or,” Miroslav bites his lip, “that he wasn’t as serious as about it as you?”

 

“Of course,” Cristiano furrows his brows, “all of that goes through your mind at some point or another, but then it’s up to you, you need to decide if it, if _he_ is worth it.” He smiles at the memory, “but that feeling, Miroslav, nothing beats that feeling when you're both on the same page, when there is no confusion, and no imbalance in how much you want each other, that Miroslav my friend, is as close to paradise as we get in life.”

 

“Why aren’t you a writer or a life coach or something?”

 

“Perhaps you can be my first customer,” Cristiano suggests as he puts the car in park and pops the door open for Miro.

 

“I tend to have bad luck with airports,” Miroslav says nervously.

 

Cristiano pats him on the shoulder, “you can’t chicken out right now, I’m not meant to tell you but Mesut has set a date for the wedding and you and Thomas are _both_ groomsmen. Just remember to follow my advice,” he winks, “taking the leap is terrifying but the freefall is well worth it.”

 

-

 

And so Miroslav waits.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a sidenote:   
> Can you just imagine Cris proposing to Mesut and the first the Mes saying is, "those diamonds are a bit much aren't they? Do they really need to be THAT big?"  
> "I just asked if you would marry me, I think you're missing the point here."  
> "I heard you and the answer is yes but really Cris, surely you could have chosen something slightly more simple? This must have cost a small fortune."  
> "It's still yes though, right?"  
> "Oh of course you idiot."
> 
> Bonus, as if there was any doubt Cristiano is an automobile snob lmao.
> 
> As always, find me at www.bamonbreakfastfoods.tumblr.com and all comments and kudos are appreciated :) x


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eye of the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to update, wifi issues, dental surgery and a lack of inspiration etc has all prevented me from writing.  
> I hope this chapter makes up for it (along with all the angst and crappy writing thus far haha)  
> There will probably be a chapter or two until I Finish (a capital letter was necessary).  
> Enjoy!

Thomas liked the beach. Thomas liked soft sand and cold water lapping at a golden coastline. Thomas liked looking into the horizon and seeing no end. Thomas likes the thought of distant or even non-existent boundaries.

However, soft sand sometimes burns your feet and cold water is soothing when the weather is warm but Thomas’ heart and mind are stormy and treacherous right now. Boundaries can stifle but a life devoid of borders, and _edges_ * is a life of nothing. A life of vast expanses that have no end in sight is lonely and smothering in its own way. Clarity and transparency are the freedom that Thomas desires most.

Not to say Fiji isn’t beautiful,  _it is_ , Thomas wakes up every morning with the knowledge that he can do whatever _he_  wants to, that he is independent in that respect. That, for once in his life, he can put himself first.

It’s terrifying for the first few days. (Thomas cries a lot.)

 

Then it was just liberating.

 

Then it was lonely.

 

Then it felt like running away. Cowardly.

 

-

 

Thomas wakes up on the day of his departure feeling more rested and at peace than before. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that the end, the boundary, the _edge_ , is near.

 

Thomas packs up his modest possessions and thinks about Spain.

 

-

 

Spain is escape. Spain is putting an ocean between himself and Miroslav. Spain is the hope he can find some semblance of happiness (like Mesut). Spain is a vague notion (and desperate hope) that redemption is possible.

 

-

 

The last person Thomas expects to see in the airport in Madrid is Miroslav.

 

-

 

Thomas tries to run. It’s not quite his most shining moment.

 

-

 

Miroslav kind of expects Thomas to not want to see him.

He doesn’t really expect Thomas to trip either but he’s not exactly surprised either.

 

-

 

“I’m sorry,” Miroslav says softly as he settles down next to Thomas. Thomas laughs mirthlessly as he covers his face with his hands.

“You didn’t have to travel to a different continent just to reject me Miro,” Thomas’ voice is muffled by his arms but his emotional exhaustion is tangible.

 

He stubbornly hides his face and refuses to look into Miroslav’s eyes. How strong he thought he was, and yet, he is once again reduced to a self-conscious mess.

Miroslav is forced, in that moment, to see the consequence of his cowardice. Thomas, the brightest and most beautiful star in the poetically chaotic constellation that was Miroslav’s life has become consumed by Miroslav’s cold uncertainty. The thought terrifies him. 

“How ever much you think you matter to me, Thomas, you are _wrong_ ,”  Miroslav’s voice is low and he tries to keep his tone even, these words, what he needs to say right now, he can’t fuck this up, “you mean **_infinitely_** more, to your family, your friends,” Miroslav smiles sadly, “and especially to _me_.”

Thomas tentatively lifts his head out of the cradle he had built out of his lanky ams, “I just brought you your coffee,” Thomas says desperately into his lap, “I’m just an assistant.”  

Miroslav leans in close, his breath ghosts over Thomas’ cheek. Thomas freezes, unable or perhaps unwilling to move. He hovers over Thomas’ ear before he changes his mind, a gentle hand tilts Thomas’ chin up, “never lower your chin in shame, my love,” Thomas blinks in surprise, _my love_ , “I am ashamed and horrified I never told you that I loved you.”

Thomas looks even more broken than he did before. Miroslav wishes he were better with words, better with healing, better with fixing. _Better with **Thomas**_ **.** “I,” Thomas stops abruptly to laugh deprecatingly and Miroslav wants so desperately to soothe these cracks that have cut Thomas so deeply and have created this Thomas he doesn’t recognize. Unsure, unhappy Thomas. Thomas who thinks he is unloved. **Unlovable.** “Why would you bother?” he asks wryly, Miroslav is momentarily distracted by a single tear that is stubbornly clinging to the edge of Thomas’ beautiful eyes.

“Loving you?” Miroslav enquires. Thomas nods, two small nods that manage to convey how little he believes Miroslav. “I didn’t get much choice, but had I been given the option I would still choose you.”

The tears are rolling down those chiseled cheekbones and Miroslav knows artists, photographers, editors who would croon nonsense about, _“emotion, juxtaposition, beauty, vulnerability, angles,”_ and so forth. Thomas has always been beyond conventional measures of beauty to Miro, but he much prefers the simple and genuine beauty of Thomas’ happiness, damn the artists.

Thomas bats away Miro’s attempts to swipe away his tears, he takes a deep breath and his smile is stained with the remnants of heartbreak, but hearld the promise of the calm after the storm, the smile is true and bright. Thomas blushes and Miroslav is suddenly aware of the crowd that appears to have formed, paparazzi and travelers alike are all mesmirised.

Miro uses his body as a barrier to protect Thomas from the worst of the flashes, Thomas chuckles, “I better get used to this eh?” his confusion must show on his face because Thomas scowls beautifully, “the privacy, or lack of it," Miroslav is still perplexed, Thomas laughs into Miroslav's neck and suddenly he doesn't mind confusion so much anymore, "I love you too, you idiot,” Thomas mumbles. It tickles but Miro does not move away.

Miroslav sighs in relief and rests his forehead against Thomas’, “you better not get used to romantic airport scenes all the time,” he warns half-heartedly. It feels like his lungs are full of butterflies, whilst stunning they do make it hard to breathe properly. But Miroslav has always been a softie and he won't be able to bring himself to shoo them away, so the butterflies will remain.

“Too late,” Thomas steals a shy kiss from the corner of Miroslav’s mouth and it feels like _everything and nothing_ has changed.

Neither of them notice the blinding flashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it, I'm sorry if you didn't I was really at a loss as how this would all play out so yeah.... did it suck?  
> Sorry if it did.  
> Urgh it did didn't it.  
> I'm just gonna go now. I feel embrarassed.  
> (Please don't hate it)


	21. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something old. Something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I took so long I have had so so so SO SO SO much going on right now. I hope you enjoy this final tidbit :)  
> (all errors and spelling mistakes etc plus a few geographical ones lol are my own)

Thomas smiles from across the aisle and makes sure no one is paying too much attention before risking a rather lewd wink. Miroslav just rolls his eyes. It’s nothing new, Thomas making trouble, that is. Even on an occasion as grand as this.

 

-

 

(2 hours earlier)

Benni takes a deep breath and wishes he were allowed to be with Mats right now. Some traditions are indescribably ridiculous. Instead he smiles wryly as Thomas animatedly attempts to persuade everyone in the room to have a pre-ceremony tipple. “To calm the nerves, obviously!” he scoffs waving about the small bottles of liquor.

 _Thank god_ for mobile phones. **“I’ll meet you by the altar ;)”**

Quite witty if he does say so himself. 

 

-

 

(20 minutes ago)

Manuel curls his hands around the hem of his blazer, why he was roped into this whole mess he has no idea, his collar is itchy, but then Thomas throws Miroslav another cheeky grin and Manu is reminded of the lengths people go for their friends and his collar is a little less irritating. _Only a little though._

 

-

 

(1 hour earlier)

Bastian has interviewed and met countless of the fashion industry’s finest and most famous and yet, right now, he has never been more nervous. As if on cue his phone vibrates, **“how are the nerves down your end, is everyone holding up alright?”** he reads aloud. He chuckles and contemplates what to type out in response.

**“everyone’s as nervous as you’d expect, I’m just glad I get to see you soon.”**

Lukas responds within twenty seconds, **“stop being a sap and make sure no one *ahem Thomas* has puked on their suits.”** Basti falls a little more in love with him in that moment, if that’s even possible. 

 

-

 

(30 minutes earlier)

Mario watches the procession of his colleagues and _friends_ in their bespoke suits with an air of decided fondness. Mats had remarked that, “grand occasions call for grand displays,” and at the time he had complained of being pinned and poked, but _now?_ Now, Mario kind of sees his point. He notices he has fallen behind and hastily tucks the rose into his button-hole and follows the group. 

Today is certainly not the day to be late.

 

-

 

(1 hour, 30 minutes earlier)

Contrary to popular theory, Mats actually _really_ likes weddings, the pomp, the frou frou, the emotions running high, _all_ of it. Ladies attired in varying shades of pastel, the men clad in three-piece suits and the like. Not to mention the champagne, to have anything but an open bar is very _gauche_. Needless to say Mats enjoys weddings, however he never really thought he would be participating in a wedding in this capacity, not that he’s complaining.

 

-

 

(10 minutes ago)

It looks like a flower bomb exploded and covered every available surface with white roses, carnations and lilies. The odd vine weaving in and out of the soft, snowfall-like patchwork of blooms conjures up the image of little hearts peeking out of winter’s very first snowfall. it's perfect. Thomas has never seen anything more beautiful.  

Poldi taking a selfie with the officiate does, admittedly, ruin some of the tranquil beauty.

 

-

 

A hand peeks out through the door, the subsequent tentative thumbs up sends everyone into action.

The officiate raises a hand to request silence and the acoustic guitar starts playing the first gentle notes of First Day of My Life begin filtering through the room. And just like that the mood in the room changes yet again.

 

-

 

Mesut tears up halfway down the aisle.

Cristiano tears up the moment he sees Mesut.

(Jogi tears up when they both say “I do.”)

 

-

 

The reception is held in the sprawling gardens of a 19th Century French Mansion (no doubt Cristiano’s choice) and the guests devour a family style feast of vivid flavours and colours. The cake is a towering seven tier offering, covered in lavish fondant lace. It has Cristiano written all over it but Mesut’s mouth twitches into a small amused smile when he sees it. Cristiano will later confide in Miroslav that Mesut flat out refused to have flowers on the cake, “he said flowers have _no business_ being on food,” much to Cristiano’s chagrin, however he tells this story with a smile of equal parts goofy devotion and a touch of endearing drunkenness.

Despite Cristiano’s rather _flamboyant_  stamp on the event the charming string quartet and mismatched vintage table cloths and cutlery all possess Mesut’s quiet style and thoughtfulness. 

All in all it’s a beautiful evening. Miroslav has been to a few weddings but this one most definitely takes the proverbial lace covered cake.  

 

Joachim settles down next to him at some point, “this is a rather neat little ending isn’t it?” he muses aloud. “It’s almost as if someone’s helpful advice helped everyone get their shit together,” he coughs.

Miroslav cocks his head to the side and chuckles, “okay, you were right, your advice is always faultless and I am sorry I didn’t take it earlier. You are inarguably the best.”

Jogi snorts, “you’re damn right I am.” They both laugh. They watch as Marco tugs Mario towards the band to dance, Mats is laughing, that is, until Benni plucks the champagne flute out of his hands, downs it in one gulp, and effectively cuts him off. “In all seriousness, I am ridiculously proud of this crazy chaotic mess of a family we seem to have acquired,” he says.

“Me too.”

The comfortable, companionable silence is broken by Bastian’s apologetic cough, “uh Klose? I think you may need to go rescue Thomas.” Miro arches a brow. “Someone may have engaged him and Donatella into a conversation,” he has the good grace to look somewhat guilty, which of course can only mean _one thing._

Jogi laughs, he has clearly connected the dots as well, “go,” he shoves Miroslav’s shoulder gently, “go rescue your damsel from Podolski and Versace.”

 

-

 

“That’s a beautiful suit but you know I remember you promising to wear Versace,” Donatella simpers, “why do you do this to me darling?”

Thomas laughs nervously, “I think uh, I must have forgot, next time maybe?”

“Oh well that’s not good enough,” she flaps her arms about and flutters her eyelashes.

Miroslav swoops in, Thomas’ expression is infinitely grateful, an arm weaves around Thomas’ waist. One of Thomas’ hands unconsciously presses itself against Miroslav’s side. “Trying to steal my boyfriend away from me Donatella?” he winks.

“Of course,” she smirks, “though, it looks like NEXT is trying to beat me to it,” she gestures with her flute of champagne to the modelling agent hovering a few metres away.

“Well we’ll just have to try and evade him, won’t we,” Miroslav grins mischievously, Donatella salutes him with her flute and Thomas just rests his head on Miroslav’s shoulder and Miroslav finds himself unable to think straight anymore after that.

 

-

 

Miroslav has tried to extract Thomas’ head from his shoulder a total of five times. “How much champagne have you had?” Miro’s tone is accusing.

Thomas just beams cheerfully, if not slightly drowsily, “5, 6 maybe even 7 glasses, you?”

“I haven’t had any yet,” Miroslav admits sadly. Thomas finds this unbearably hilarious and proceeds to laugh himself silly.

Naturally, Manuel chooses to accost them at that exact moment, he shakes his head at Thomas, who just shrugs, “I won’t even ask-“

“Probably better for everyone,” Thomas declares.

“ _Okay,_  I just wanted to let you know word on the street is that Vanity Fair wants to do a 'Couples in Fashion' piece,” he raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure Cristiano and Mesut will be delighted, I’m not quite sure why you’re telling us this,” Miroslav says slowly.

Manu rolls his eyes, “they want you two idiots on the cover.”

_oh._

“It should be the November edition, and from what I gather Mesut is only willing to do the piece if you both agree to as well.”  

“It sounds wonderful!” Thomas interjects loudly.

“We’ll have to think about it,” Miroslav amends, tugging Thomas off to the side.

Thomas blinks a few times, he looks adorably confused, “you don’t want to do it?”

“No it’s just…” Miroslav breathes in, “that’s around Milan fashion week,” he blurts out in a rush. His face is probably somewhere between wine red and Valentino red.

Thomas’ expression softens, he presses himself up against Miroslav and whispers, “is that so?”

“I just thought maybe we could, you know, go back, I booked the same hotel” Miroslav shrugs, face hot.

“Let’s figure something out,” Thomas presses a kiss to the corner of Miroslav’s mouth. Miroslav tilts his face and captures Thomas’ lips in a searing kiss. Their fingers entwine.

_Thomas tastes like promises, anticipation and forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (one last time) Thoughts?  
> (OH apologies for the weird timeline, hehe btw did anyone realise it was Cris and Mesut's wedding or did I manage to trick you?? I also know it's a bit of a chaotic mishmash and I didn't get to focus a lot on every character but I hope you didn't hate it at least)
> 
> I really REALLY want to thank everyone who read this mess of a fic, I have loved every second of it. I have made so many wonderful friends and for that I am so grateful! If this fic has made you giggle or given you feels then my job is more than done. On that note keep your eyes peeled because I have a feeling I will be writing more for all of these characters in due time. If anyone has any suggestions feel free to hit up my tumblr :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading  
> Meisel's Muse

**Author's Note:**

> So... thoughts? Feedback is all appreciated :D  
> I don't even know what this is, I just wanted to write so... I did?  
> (WHISPERS LOUDLY *SORRY IF IT SUCKED*)


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